What Time We Have Left
by Hearts of Eternity
Summary: Premovie. A look at what happenes in the time leading up to the Ark's departure for the Allspark and the way it affected certain bots and sparkmates. A lot of love, hurt, and comfort goes around the Autobot base for a lot of mechs and femmes.
1. Of Chromia and Ironhide

Alright… so this is a story that came to me in a streak of brilliance. I have no idea where it shall lead me, but I will allow myself to be tugged along on this merry train of thought and see where it gets me! You're all welcome to come along for the ride! I'm sure it'll be an interesting journey.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers in any way shape or form. Obviously.

**What Time We Have Left**

There were very few places left on Cybertron that offered true rest for the weary. But, there were small oasis pocketed away here and there that offered such respite- the trick was, you had to find them first. One such haven, if one looked hard enough for it, could be found in the lower levels of the Autobot's Iacon base.

Nebula One was a small place of sorts; dim, quiet, shielded from the harsh cries of war that raged. At first, the establishment had just been an unused store room that a few mechs would gather in on their off hours to simply get wasted, but with so many soldiers packed into such crammed quarters and the need for a real place to relax growing, it soon became apparent that the arrangement would undoubtedly be unable to last. And so the once unused storeroom was converted into a small hub for gathering and relaxing. From there, the humble beginnings of Nebula One were expanded into several unused storerooms, their dividing walls knocked down and swept aside.

It transformed into the kind of place where any tired mech or femme would find themselves at after a hard shift; the kind of place where they could ease back with friends and comrades, take in some well needed high-grade, and try to forget the war going on outside- at least for a little while.

It was this particular small establishment that Chromia found herself in after a very_long_ and _hard_ shift, one which had included a highly dangerous raid on Decepticon territory. Thankfully, the operation had been successful; her squad had pulled off their operation with every ounce of hard-trained finesse she'd trained and beaten into each of them. She had expected nothing less from her team.

But, in the aftermath of the job well done, Chromia was looking for a strong cube of high-grade and a good long recharge afterwards- preferably alongside a certain gruff weapons specialist who just happened to be her sparkmate.

Startled from her musings by a chair scrapping out next to her, she turned in time to greet a few of her comrades with a tired but welcome smile on her faceplate.

"Someone's looking a little worse for wear," Firestar chirped teasingly as she sat down. Across the table, Moonracer perched on her seat delicately and Elita One stood behind her chair, leaning against it and gazing at Chromia with a steady look of friendly concern.

"Nothing that a little bit of high-grade can't fix," Chromia replied dryly, toasting her friends with her cube and taking a sip.

"Nothing that a little spark-to-spark with your old bucket of bolts won't fix, you mean," Firestar countered suggestively, her optics sparkling. "A little bit of the old 'Hide action, an' all…" Though the other two femmes groaned, Chromia made no move to deny the accusation, simply offering a shrug and hinting a smile.

Moonracer, the ever conservative femme, sunk a little lower in her seat and covered her optics. "Firestar, everyone can hear you…" she whined quietly. "Just this once, please, just this once can you try to be decent? You're as bad as some of the mechs here." Elita put a comforting hand on the sniper's shoulder.

"It's alright Moonracer, I am sure if I were to ask, Ratchet would be more than capable to put a filter on Firestar's vocal processor," she said calmingly. Finally, she pulled out her chair and sat, shifting a glance at Firestar that told her the threat was empty, humour brightening her optics.

The red-gold femme huffed stubbornly, but resisted the urge say something to her superior. Even if they were off duty, there was still the hierarchy of command that remained un-budging, even within Nebula One. And, worse yet, though the chance was slim and the threat had been in fun, there was no way Firestar was about to risk the ghost of a chance that she might be paid a visit by the wrathful Ratchet. It was best to stay quiet and not risk it.

Chromia laughed and sipped some more of her drink, her tiredness fading in the company of friends. "Inferno might not be so happy," she intoned. "From what I've heard, you can get him pretty hot under the armor with all your talk- make any mech's circuits sizzle." Sure, Chromia might have been a little older than most of the femmes in the Autobot ranks, with the exception of Elita One, but that didn't mean she couldn't be as bawdy as the worst of them. Especially when there was high-grade involved.

Firestar sat up a little straighter, a new grin arranging itself on her faceplate. She waved over a couple of drinks for the rest of the table and leaned toward the older femme, revving with excitement. Ratchet be damned, she had a right to brag. "It's not just the talk that I can get him revving with," she said proudly. Her hand brushed knowingly over the panel in her chest that hid her interface port. "I know quite a few tricks that can get his coolant system working so hard he'd blow a fuse." She leaned back a bit, looking thoughtfully impish. "He did once, actually," she admitted. "It was a pit of a time trying to explain to Ratchet exactly how he had blown it, though."

Chromia laughed again. "I bet he enjoyed the explanation," she said, grinning with the thought of Ratchet being faced with two randy Autobots at some wretched time in the morning while they tried to explain the problem to him.

Undaunted, Firestar nodded. "Of course," she replied, adopting a haughty tone. "He asked for a slagging explanation and I gave him a slagging explanation, _extended version_." She crowed laughter at the look that came upon poor Moonracer's faceplate, Chromia joining in with indelicate snorts. Elita one rolled her optics, but did spare an entertained smirk.

"_You did not…"_ Moonracer groaned, hiding herself behind her newly arrived drink.

"Oh yes, I did," countered Firestar. "Sufficed to say, he has never once asked again for an explanation whenever we show up in his fragging med bay."

Chromia shook her head, finishing off her first cube of energon and reaching for the second that Firestar had ordered for them. "You and Inferno sure go at it like petro-rabits," she snorted. "It's a wonder that either of you make it to your shifts on time."

"It's a wonder there haven't been any complaints lodged against the two of you," Elita said. "The walls are only so thick and audio receptors can only be turned off for so long."

A devious look came over Firestar's faceplate and she leaned forward conspiratorially. "Oh, there _have_ been complaints, but Inferno is good friends with Red Alert, you know, and they worked out this deal, see-."

"Ah! Stop right there!" Elita ordered quickly. She knew the instant Firestar opened her mouth that she didn't want to know what the femme had to say. "What ever that deal may be, and I believe I can deduce what it may be, I am absolutely sure Moonracer would fritz if she had to hear all the rancid details. I know Red Alert is just as close to Inferno as you are, and I shudder to think that a mech as fine as Inferno is using that relationship for his own ends…" she took a calming drink from her high-grade. "I may have to speak with Prowl about this-."

"Anyone but _Prowl_, Elita," Chromia cut in with a dismissive wave of her hand. There was a grin on her faceplate that stretched from Audio receptor to audio receptor. "I mean, the mech has a good spark and all, but no sense of fun-."

"He has Jazz for that." Firestar muttered. Moonracer continued to nurse her energon, blatantly ignoring the rest of the table.

"-You might as well write up the report and hand it to Optimus Prime yourself and save him the trip, because Primus knows the instant you inform that mech, that's exactly what he'll be doing." Chromia looked to Elita in hopes of getting through to her. The Femme Commander was looking deadpan unconvinced, so it was time for a new tactic. "Don't you remember what it was like to be young? Wanting to get your hands under everyone's armor, interfacing at every given chance, acting like over-energized petro-rabbits… And with the war going on, I say they should get it where they can, whenever they can." There was a light in Elita's optics that wasn't there before; she was looking a little more convinced. "I know you have Optimus, and I have Ironhide, but the files from before are still there, aren't they?"

Elita was quiet for a while, taking a long drink of her high-grade before her internal systems released a hiss that was the equivalent of a sigh. "Oh, I remember," she replied, and then a barely-there grin ghosted over her faceplate. "I remember late nights out in Tyger Pax, meeting up with some mech, spending orns together-."

Moonracer looked incredulous. "You just "met up" with a mech? You mean you didn't _know_ him?" she asked fretfully. Elita shook her head and Chromia shrugged to show that the act of meeting up with someone back in their day was not such a big deal- no worries of being Decepticon or Autobot back then.

"You got to know him, that was half the fun," Elita laughed, but Moonracer was not to be soothed.

"But- but weren't you afraid of catching some sort of virus or something?"

Elita laughed and shook her head lightly. "Of course not, this was vorns ago, the beginnings of Cybertron's Golden Age, probably before you two were even created," she said, nodding to both Moonracer and Firestar. "Nobody worried about catching viruses back then, it was all very open. Firewalls were an unusual thing to come across, too. And nobody had even heard of a Decepticon before. It was a very different time from what you two know now."

"_Wow…"_ Moonracer sighed, her optics wide.

"You two are _ancient_," Firestar snorted. "I wasn't even a code in my Creator's CPU back then. Nowadays, nobody interfaces without a diagnostic first and everybody has up firewalls on their systems and on their back-up systems. And _don't _even get me started on the Decepticons; practically from the moment you were sparked you were hearing about them."

"Not anymore though," Chromia said, looking down. "Not with the Youth Sectors destroyed and the Allspark gone…" There were no more sparklings to be created, and all the younglings had died in the attacks on the Youth Sectors, with the exception of a particular yellow minibot.

Suddenly the strain she had been trying to escape from returned, weighing down on her more heavily than before. Times sure had changed. The fresh beginning of the Golden Age had long passed, along with it her first encounter at a shooting range with a young but gruff mech with a love for his plasma cannons. It was as distant as the stars now, and in its place was a war-ravaged world where every moment spent with a friend or loved one could mean the last. It made her realize how very little time she had spent with Ironhide as of late, and how very precious every moment was from now on.

Moonracer reached across the table and placed a comforting hand over Chromia's. "You know we're going to find it someday," she said softly. "There is just no way that Optimus and the others would leave the Allspark to drift out there in space for the Decepticons to find-."

"Yeah, c'mon- I bet it's just sitting out there somewhere, on some backwater rock of a planet in a corner of the galaxy that not even the Decepti-frags would crawl to," Firestar piped in. "It's what we're all fighting for, isn't it? If you lose spark now, then the Decepticons have already won."

Chromia finished off her second drink quickly, hoping to feel the effects of the high-grade in her systems soon. "I know that." She barked a harsh laugh and cursed, running a hand over her strained optics. "Of course I know that!" She dropped her head into her hands and just sat there rubbing her optics tiredly. "But there are times when you just wish you could walk up to that slagging pit-reject _Frag-_atron and blow his pointy head off, just so we can be done with this all! We've infiltrated Decepticon territory enough times for energon, why not for an attack? We'd rip those glitching fraggers apart!"

"You're too much like Ironhide for your own good," Elita said with a shake of her head. "Thank Primus it is Optimus and I who are in charge and not you two, or we'd all be running headlong into battle, cannons blazing."

"Not a bad tactic, though," Firestar admitted with a shrug. "I wouldn't mind some aft kicking action."

Moonracer shuddered and shook her head. She may have been a sharpshooter alongside Arcee, but battle was not her idea of fun. "I certainly wouldn't mind being left b- _Bumblebee_!"

The other femmes jumped, swinging around to face the young scout who had easily snuck up on them. Though his vocal processor had been damaged beyond repair by Megatron a while ago, he gave them a jaunty whistle of greeting and held out a data pad for Elita. He was so very young to be fighting a war like this, barely anything more than a youngling himself, and still he managed to be so cheerful.

Elita accepted the data pad from the young minibot and nodded to him. "Thank you, Bumblebee. It was very kind of you to deliver this yourself." Seeing that it was from Optimus, she immediately began to download the information.

Bumblebee bounced a little on his feet and clicked a few times, turning to Chromia. For her, he pulled out another data pad and held it out for her. Surprised momentarily, she paused before taking it- who would be sending her any messages? She hadn't been around for a few orns, or even sent in her report on the infiltration operation yet, so hardly anyone should even know she was back.

After refusing a cheeky offer from Firestar to share a few sips of high-grade with her, Bumblebee quickly ambled off, clicking and waving jovially to a few mechs as he passed.

"Primus…" Elita froze in her download as she assessed the information that was being given to her. Every ounce of coolant in her system felt like it instantly turned to ice. "Optimus, no…"

The other femmes leaned closer to the femme commander, curious as to what could be the matter.

"Did something happen?" Moonracer inquired anxiously.

Her own data pad forgotten, Chromia left her chair and circled around to get to Elita's side. "Did something happen to Optimus?"

Shaking her head, the femme dropped the data pad and slid it away from her. "No… not yet, at least." She stared down at the data pad as if entranced. "That was just an overview of an upcoming mission that Optimus is about to announce; a deep space search and rescue mission… for the Allspark." Her entire frame now sagged against the table, even though Firestar and Moonracer visibly perked up. "He's already placed himself as commander of the mission- and issued an order for me to stay behind to remain commander of the femme contingents and work along side Ultra Magnus for the rest of the Autobot forces…"

There was a terrible silence that hung in the air after Elita's words, even if Nebula One was still full of friendly din the atmosphere around their table plunged drastically. Although the younger two of the four femmes knew to a lesser degree the severe reality of the data pad, it was Chromia who unfortunately knew the full weight.

A deep space mission, one that could last for vorns- _forever_ possibly- where one sparkmate was left behind while the other one traveled out into the vast regions of uncharted space; slow torture. Words could never possibly accurately describe the pain.

When two bots sparkbond with each other, that was it. There was no other in the universe for them for as long as their sparks still pulsed. It was a connection that went infinitely deeper than words could describe. It took on the near-spiritual as sparks met and infused with each other, imprinting upon the other a permanent mark of their chosen sparkmate, their bonded, to be there for the rest of eternity. Everything changed from that moment on, right down to the basic lines of code that made up one's basic processes, now to include that of the bonded.

Separation was brutal.

Don't even try to equate death of a bonded into the picture.

Chromia crumbled next to Elita, arms around the in-shock femme's shoulders. This was the worse she'd ever seen her friend without someone landing a physical blow on her. Elita One was the brave one, the smart one, the wise one; she was capable of staring down the barrel of a plasma cannon twice her size without flinching. And yet, here she was- reduced to a stupor by the contents of a devastatingly innocent looking data pad.

There was the sudden urge to charge her energy rifle and blast the slagging little pad just to make it explode and burn for all the trouble it held.

"He never even discussed this with me…" she said sullenly. "Never mentioned his plans…"

Nebula One was suddenly too crowded. There were too many mechs have too good a time here for Chromia's liking at the moment; once she was done with the data pad, she'd turn her rifle on the rest of them. Show them to be grinning at a time like this. Some were beginning to look over curiously, until captured by Chromia's fierce glare, to which they promptly turned around.

Her night was just getting worse and worse. Come here for a high-grade buzz and end up in the brig for discharging her weapon into the faceplates of too curious, too stupid, Autobots.

Searching for words that would equate to some sort of impossible comfort for the devastated femme, Chromia dared to utter the most insignificant and useless words to be used in situations like these. "Come on now, it's going to be ok-."

Elita's dead blue optics silenced her before she even finished the sentence. "That's not all of it," she said, her voice low and flat. "Someone has already volunteered and been accepted to go with Optimus…"

There was a dangerously cold, sinking feeling going down in Chromia's spark. Yes, this night was going to the pit whether she liked it or not.

"Ironhide," she sighed quietly. She already knew it him. There was no way it wasn't going to be him. He was Optimus Prime's closest friend and weapons specialist after all; he was privy to all the secret workings of Prime's inner circle, knew everything before anyone else in the ranks. Probably volunteered himself the moment Optimus suggested the mission. He was too good of friends with Prime, too loyal and duty bound, to let the commander go without him.

And with a single nod of confirmation from Elita, all the cold in Chromia's spark was gone, replaced by a very hot burning in her circuits, the sinking turned into righteous soaring high-grade fuelled rage.

All that precious time she thought she had left with her bonded suddenly became very small and very frightening.

Abruptly, she stood from Elita's side and glared down at the other femmes. "Take her back to her quarters," she ordered. "Stay with her." Spinning furiously on her heel, she made for the exit of Nebula One, heedless of the stares she was receiving from the denizens of the room as she stormed.

"And where are you going?" Firestar yelled after her.

Pausing in the doorway, Chromia snarled and punched the frame, leaving a nice sized dent in the polished silver metal. "To find my slagging _sparkmate," _she hissed, reaching over her left shoulder and extracting her beloved, but powerful, double-barrel energy rifle, "and have a nice long _talk _with him."

The door closed behind her with a resounding hiss that left a shudder running throughout all the room.

Of all the glitch-headed, stupid-aft, pit-slagging stunts that mech has pulled, this was by far the worst of them all! Ratchet was going to have one pit of a time piecing the old warrior back together after she was through with him! First she was going to dismantle him, and then she was going to pound every single inch of his dismantled body into a gigantic pile of scrap metal, and then she was going to put him back together to yell at him until his audio receptors blew- AND, if he even dared say anything, Primus forbid he tell her to be silent, she was going to take his own fragging plasma cannons and shoot them straight up his aft, _with his arms still attached!_

She wasn't going to forgive him this time! There was just no way!

And as Chromia seethed and stormed down hallways and corridors, her rifle charged and hefted against her shoulder, bots of all sizes quickly scrambled to get out of her way. Those who had been in a tangle with her before saw the danger signs and made haste to get out of her path lest they wished a trip to Ratchet's courtesy of Chromia.

It might have been funny to her any other time to see such strong warriors easily twice her height pressing themselves to the walls as she passed, but anger was just about all she could process at the moment. Though femmes were created notably smaller than mechs, smaller than minibots even, their ferocious anger made them extremely dangerous when incensed. Chromia's particular fury was best known for being easily incurred and most effective when she was wielding some sort of high powered weapon.

Quickly opening a private comlink to Ironhide, she tried to get a hold of him. Her ire only rose more when she realized that his slagging communications had been shut off for some reason or other. _So he wouldn't have to put up with me for a few more breems!_ Chromia thought angrily. With that option out, she sent out wide spread sensors to find him, and hissed with fury when she came up blind. Slag! He was in one of the dead zones within the base, completely shielded from detection by sensor sweeps.

Chromia cursed Red Alert's paranoia. It had been his suggestion to set up blanketing shields on all major operating areas within the base so that even if a Decepticon managed to infiltrate the Autobot base he wouldn't be able to scan any of the vital areas. A good idea at the time; now, it was a very, very, very bad idea.

She would just have to hunt him down the old fashioned way.

The high-grade that was now running through her systems continued to happily scramble her logic center so that she would not pause for even a moment to think over her anger. Had she been processing straight, it would have occurred to her that the data pad Bumblebee had delivered to her could have been from Ironhide; he was one of the few who knew she would be back today. The messaged could have been him informing her of the situation, or at least telling her that he had something to tell her and to meet him somewhere, i.e. his favourite firing range in dead zone. But no, over-energized and angry, pausing to think about logic was the last thing on her processor.

* * *

Ironhide, as it turned out, was exactly where Chromia thought he would be; in his favourite holo-firing range in the lower levels of the base. His back was to her when she came storming in, but it was obvious by the new rigidness of his broad shoulders that he knew she was there, call it a sixth sense granted to those who had sparkmates.

Standing in the doorway, unmoving, she watched with wary optics as the black mech pounded a couple of rounds into a holographic Decepticon before it exploded into a shower of pixels. Three more Decepticons materialized around the room, Chromia noting that the projections had been reconfigured with the likenesses of Starscream and two of his Seeker contingent.

Plasma lit up the room as several volleys arched in a wide sweep, catching two of the Cybertronian jets, one in the wing and grazing the underside of the other. Holo-Starscream abruptly dropped from the air and transformed, running straight at Ironhide in a headlong attack. With his right arm already blasting out rounds of roaring plasma at Thundercracker and Skywarp, Ironhide's left cannon quickly turned to intercept the oncoming Decepticon. Using targeting sensors, he locked on and fired. It was a magnificent shot, but far too obvious, and Starscream was able to roll out of the way, transforming and taking to the air again and racing around the gigantic stadium that made up the firing range.

Hitting the ground hard and rolling, the seasoned warrior avoided getting his head sheared off by a crashing Skywarp as he took out the hologram's propulsion systems. Sensors still tracking the wild Starscream racing the room, he lost Thundercracker as the jet shot up vertically, barrel rolled, and raced around the room going the opposite way of Starscream.

There was a grunt of annoyance as Ironhide tracked the two blurs, his sharp targeting sensors trying to locks on to both but their speeds were making it difficult to stay on both. Opting to take out Starscream first, Ironhide dropped sensor lock on Thundercracker and focused on Starscream, calculating sped, trajectory, point of impact, and supposed damaged to be inflicted in less than an astrosecond before firing.

Even angry, Chromia couldn't help the sort of pride she felt when she watched her old trigger-happy sparkmate make such a magnificent shot. Plasma roared and collided with Starscream in an exploding light show that easily took out both his wings. Taking a sharp nosedive, the hologram hit the floor in a loud grating metallic crash and exploded into pixels.

But even as Ironhide spun around to meet the last Decepticon, Thundercracker was upon him. The hologram rammed him hard in the right shoulder joint, transformed, and aimed his plasma cannon right between the optics. The only thing that saved Ironhide's aft was a well placed high-yield shot issued from Chromia's energy rifle into the back of Thundercracker's head, decapitating him and ending the entire simulation.

As the projectors shut off and the lights dimmed, Chromia stood glowering from her place in the door way, her rifle now trained on Ironhide.

"Chromia-," his greeting was cut off as the rifle was brandished threateningly.

"Explain. Now." She demanded harshly.

Ironhide met her optics steadily, not an ounce of fear in the face of her rifle. Slowly, his cannons folded into his arms and he pushed himself up, wincing as gears grinded in his right shoulder where Thundercracker had hit.

"Bumblebee delivered my message?" he asked, watching her with steady blue optics.

"Something to that effect," she replied venomously. "Same time as Elita One received her message from Optimus Prime."

His optics widened fractionally before narrowing calculatingly. "You know, then?" he asked, his deep voice resonating in the cavernous training room.

"Of course I know!" Chromia shrieked. "I found out from fragging Elita, Ironhide, who just found out her own sparkmate was leaving! By Primus, how dare you do this to me! How dare you volunteer for this suicide mission without even discussing it with me first!"

He watched her silently. With sensors operational within the dead zone, he swept her form with a plethora of scans, taking in the dullness of her armor and the tremor with which she held her weapon. He noted the rigidness of her stance and the rapid pulsing of her spark. Her optics were wide and bright as they stared him down. Systems were under strain from lack of recharge, and she was drawing on reserve cells that had already seen a better day. A deeper scan revealed an imbalance to a few of her systems due to high-grade consumption, as well.

"Chromia-."

Again, she cut him off. "Slag it, Ironhide, you are my bonded! We are fragging sparkmates! You are supposed to tell me when you do stupid things like this!" she shouted.

"I was going to tell you," he said quietly. "Right now, in fact. Elita only beat me to it."

Chromia's trigger finger trembled, Ironhide's sharp optics catching the slight movement easily.

"I had no intention of you finding out in such a way," he said, daring to take a step forward. "I regret it deeply, but regardless of how you found out or your reaction, my decision to participate in mission will remain the same. I'm going with Prime."

Chromia let out a noise that sounded like a hiss. "Why?!" she yelled. "Tell me why, Ironhide!"

"I had to-."

"You volunteered!"

"Do you think that I would allow Optimus to leave on such a dangerous mission without me?" Ironhide asked, his voice now growling.

Chromia froze for an instant. This was _Ironhide_. He was too loyal, too honorable and duty bound, to allow someone as close to him as Optimus to embark on such a journey alone. She chose to say nothing, continuing to glare angrily, but the arm holding her gun dropped to her side weakly.

Seeing it was now safe to approach the rest of the way, Ironhide quickly closed the gap between the two of them in a few fast strides. His strong arms went around her small frame, which was just over half his height, and she was lifted to be eye level with him. Their chests touched, sparks pulsing in greeting to each other.

"I may be your sparkmate, Chromia, but I am also an Autobot, and I have a duty to this cause- and to Optimus," he said in her audio receptor. He was slowly making his way back to the door, but instead of walking out he reached to the panel with one arm and encrypted it so that no one could enter. No interruptions until he made her understand. He then carried her over to the long, wide benches that sat against the back wall of the firing range and sat down, still holding her.

"I knew what it would cost us if I signed on for this. It will be difficult, and painful, but there was no choice in the matter. Prime needs me on that mission if he wants any chance to find the Allspark." In an act of rarely shown affection for the gruff mech, he laid his head over hers and tucked her close to his frame. "You understand, don't you? This is more important than anything else we've ever faced. Finding the Allspark is more important than this war, this world; if we were to find, we could end this, bring Cybertron back…"

It was too late by the time she knew what Ironhide was doing. He was soothing her, oh the irony when it was usually the other way around; he was using their proximity to affect her, impose upon her a sense of calm that she had not felt in quite a few orns.

Allowing him to do as he pleased for the time being, she chose to speak instead. "There is no way you're going to change your mind, is there?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"No. I have to do this."

She knew him too well. This _was_ something he had to do, regardless of danger, despite what it would do to the both of them to be apart. Going on this mission to find the Allspark, and blow some Decepticons to itty bitty bits along the way, was who he was. It always had been, since the moment she had met him.

Gently slipping a hand underneath the hard armor of his right shoulder, she absently soothed the sensitive wires and abused gears that lay beneath. A slight shiver ran through the large mech's frame.

"When do you leave?" she asked softly. There was no anger now, just tiredness and numbness and the warmth coming through her armor from the frame that was surrounding her.

"Whenever the _Ark _is done being prepared," came the reply. His voice was getting lower, deeper. Her hand was still stroking at the delicate wires underneath his armor. "We have a few orns, at least."

Chromia flinched. That wasn't long at all, not compared to the eternity that they had been together before this. "I'm going to miss you," she whispered.

"And I, you."

Understatements of the millennia.

Chromia wriggled in Ironhide's arms, shifting, turning to face him fully and lifting herself to press her forehead to his. "We haven't spend much time together, as of late," she said softly. "I've missed you then as well."

Ironhide chuckled. It was either the extreme exhaustion or high-grade that had her like this, because normally she was as gruff as he was. But now was not a time for gruff. He pressed his own forehead to hers, shuttering his optics and simply enjoying her closeness, the pull on his spark that always rose in the chest when she was near.

Her hands rose up to hold Ironhide's faceplate on either side, her small but strong hands touching the old, warm metal that made up his faceplate, stroking and holding him close. Her spark was pulsing in her own chest at the proximity; she knew what she wanted, but didn't know if she had enough energy left to last any longer without falling into involuntary recharge.

"Can we have these few orns?" she asked quietly. "Just for us? Before you… before you _leave_." The last word was whispered, afraid of what that word meant.

He nodded slowly for her, large hands moving over the sleek armor of his sparkmate's frame. Armor sliding back to allow him better access, he used more care than most would think him capable of to gently run his hands over the exposed thinner proto-armor and exposed wires. A desperate shiver ran through Chromia's frame before she became limp and pliable against Ironhide's broad chest.

"I would give you forever, if it was within my power," he replied softly. It was only for her that he would bother with such soft words.

When he received no answer, whether in sound or movement, he un-shuttered his optics and saw that Chromia had finally given into her exhaustion, her hands still holding onto him tightly.

Chuckling to himself, he readjusted the prone form of his sparkmate in his arms for her comfort and lifted her so that she was cradled close to his spark. Moving to the exit, he broke the encryptions he set for their own privacy and opened the door.

Jazz stood on the other side, grinning widely and flanked by Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.

"Soooo… hard training session?" he asked, looking to the off-lined Chromia in Ironhide's arms. Sideswipe was grinning wildly, every lewd comment he could possibly make of the situation going through his processor.

Ironhide glared darkly, glancing down at his bonded. "Very difficult," he growled in reply before shouldering past them roughly.

It took a lot to ignore the mischievous optics that followed him down the corridor, took everything he had to reign in the impulse to whip around and blast a hole through their grinning faceplates, but there were more important things to him at the moment.

Chromia, for instance.

There was only so much time he had left with her, and he wasn't going to waste it.


	2. Of Optimus and Elita

This chapter is totally and completely dedicated to **Pheonix13** and **Stripperella**! Enjoy it!

_Crystal City-_ There is mention of a city called the Crystal City in the TF G1 episode The Secret of Omega Supreme. It was entire city made of crystal.

"_Elita One knows no fear."_- Homage to Elita's original G1 counterpart.

**What Time We Have Left  
Of Optimus and Elita One  
**

Optimus Prime was a leader like no other.

That was the general agreement among the troops under his command. He was kind and gentle, but knew when to be firm. He was as charismatic as he was powerful. He had a gift to know exactly what to say to his warriors before a fight that left each bot's spark infused with a courage that would carry them throughout battle. He radiated a certain sense of calmness and strength that let everyone around him know that they were safe and protected with him around.

But for all that strength and calmness, for all the charisma he was praised to have, and all the courage the leader of the Autobots was renowned to own, Optimus Prime had no idea if he could face what was on the other side of the door to his shared quarters with Elita One.

He knew the mission specs had been delivered to her. Bumblebee had seen to that with his usual enthusiasm, and reported back to him in half the amount of time he thought it would take the scout to deliver the data pad. The young mech was revving for a new task to do. To keep him busy, Optimus sent him off with the rest of the data pads containing the mission proposal. While in normal cases a drone would be sent to on such a mundane task as delivering notices, Bumblebee looked too eager for a new task to be refused.

The minibot whistled merrily out of the office with his armload of data pads while the leader of the Autobots remained in his office, brooding in a mood dark enough to dim the lights.

He took no pleasure in knowing that Elita had already received the data pad containing information on the purposed mission, complete with his explicit orders for her to stay behind. In fact, the thought of it sent quite a painful lurch through his spark. Primus only knew how she felt… But, it was part of his duty to send out statements to all contingent commanders of all upcoming missions so that they could inform their troops. By a most ill fate, it just happened that Elita was commander of the femme contingent.

To prevent her from doing exactly what he knew she'd do the instant she downloaded the information, Optimus had also placed orders within the mission overview for Elita to stay behind as commander of the femmes. He knew it would hurt her to be forced to stay behind. He could _feel_ her hurting, the sensation becoming a dull ache in his spark. It hurt him just as badly to input the order, but it had to be done; he couldn't let her come. It was too dangerous. He needed her here where she could help Ultra Magnus and the others, in the relative safety of the Autobot bases.

At least, that was what he kept telling himself.

How long had he sat in his office, brooding in the silence as mechs passed outside the door, chatting and discussing with one another without any knowledge to the turmoil their leader was in? He could have sat there for joors, orns, even _vorns_ without moving.

A search for the Allspark… Possibly the means to bringing back a civilization that laid in ruins at that very moment. A mission meant to give hope to all those who thought this war was now pointless and useless. A mission in which he was to be the leader, another symbol of hope to his people that a new, better life laid ahead for them.

Instead, it was only causing him sparkache.

It would only cause more pain for whoever chose to volunteer, as it did for Ironhide the moment his pledge left his mouth, seconds after Prime had even purposed the idea of the mission. The old weapons specialist had a bonded as well, a fiery and strong sparkmate, and yet he was sacrificing that for the sake of his world. Optimus would never forget the look of pain that pasted over his old friend's optics as he placed himself on the mission; it was a look that no one would forget. The look of a mech volunteering to put himself through the pit for the sake of his world.

He could only imagine what Chromia would do when she found out.

That femme was far more of a rigged plasma cannon than a firecracker, and more likely to cause a lot more damage when set off, too. She was so much like Ironhide that it was frightening.

It was funny how some sparks called to each other like that. How similar the bots to whom the sparks belonged turned out to be. Ironhide and Chromia both being blunt and trigger-happy, while he and Elita One were calm and more adapt at listening and leading. The parallels between countless sparkmates were as infinite as the stars. It was always strange, but fortuitous, how it turned out, being that the two bots who would be bonded for the rest of their long lives would forever have something in common.

No matter how far the distance between them may be.

It was those thoughts, and many others, that carried Optimus through joors of silent contemplation.

The only reason he found himself outside his quarter's doors now was that Ratchet had finally forced him out of his office. The medic had been prowling outside the door for the better part of a joor, ranting on about how he had passed Elita One in the hallway being supported by Firestar and Moonracer, and how he was her _sparkmate_ and that it was his _Primus-damned duty_ to see to her. Optimus had opted to try and ignore the ornery CMO until he blew himself out of hot air. However, Ratchet was exceptionally over-endowed with massive reserves of hot air, enabling him to keep blustering long after a normal bot would have stopped.

Overriding the lock codes on the door, the medic burst in and towered over the seated leader of the Autobots.

"She looked awful, Optimus!" he raved, gesturing violently. "You should not have sent such precious information in such a callous and impersonal way! As her bonded, you should very well have told her in person, well in advance to actually signing on to this mission!"

"I know," Optimus sighed, head in hands.

Ratchet's gaze turned steely. "If need be, I will instate my power as CMO around here and deem you unfit as of this moment and _order _you to your quarters to see her!"

It did not take long for the threat to be made an actual order when Optimus had tried to call the bluff, resulting in him discovering Ratchet had not be bluffing at all.

He was escorted, _escorted!, _to his own quarters by Prowl and Hound by order of Chief Medical Officer Ratchet the Hatchet. While Prowl maintained his usual cool disposition, Hound was routinely glancing over his shoulder at the Autobot leader who was following a few paces behind. Their optics met once, and Hound tried to offer the Commander a small smile, but it withered under Optimus's defeated gaze.

They came to the private barracks where Optimus and Elita's quarters were, and the trio proceeded to wait silently in front of Prime's door while Prime himself contemplated entering.

"Sir, is something the matter with the door?" Prowl asked.

Releasing a low sigh through his vents, Optimus shook his head. "No," he replied. "No, it's fine. I'm going in now."

The gleaming metal slid aside with a swift soft hiss, opening up to his living space. It was ominously dark and quiet from within. With a final nod to his escorts to let them know their duty had been served, he stepped in and let the doors close with the same hiss they opened with.

As a sign of his position, as well as there being more than one bot living there, Prime's quarters were notably larger than that of the average bot's. There was also more than just the customary one open room that generally housed the recharge berth and whatever personal affects the soldier chose to have in the room. Prime's quarters were gifted with four rooms in total, the main meeting/greeting room he was standing in, a room to house his shared recharge berth with Elita, an office which he also shared with his bonded, as well as private wash racks for them to use.

Resetting his optics so that he would be able to see more easily in the low light without having to turn anything on, Optimus made his way out of the general greeting/meeting room into a very short hallway that led either to the right or left; on the left was the office, to the right, the room their shared recharge berth in. Straight ahead was the wash racks.

A faint light came from the right.

Wishing his old gears were quieter than they were, he came to the doorway and stared in. The room was as it usually appeared; sparse, filled with only the large recharge berth against the far wall and a sadly small amount of personal effects on a small stand next to the berth. The soft blue lights that ran along the bottom of the recharge berth were on, adding the glow to the room that had attracted Optimus there in the first place.

"Elita," he said softly. He didn't need to say anything necessarily, she had known he was there the instant he stepped into the quarters, but she looked up nonetheless. Her optics were dull. Moonracer's arm was around her shoulders comfortingly, the young femme previously trying to offer comfort of some sort. Firestar sat on the very edge of the berth, swinging her legs and looking like a trapped animal. Emotional situations were not her forte and the kind of carnal comfort she normally liked to offer to wayward bots did not apply in this circumstance.

As soon as the young femmes caught sight of their leader looming in the doorway, they leapt from the berth and acknowledged him quietly. Optimus returned the gesture.

"Sir, Elita One, she…" Moonracer searched for the right words to describe the situation, but failed. Thankfully, Optimus waved his hand to dismiss whatever she would say.

"I believe it would be appropriate that I have some privacy with her," he said, nodding to Elita. She had not moved from where she was on the berth. "You two are relieved of your duties here. Please, return to your quarters and get in some recharge."

"Yes, sir!" the two femmes coursed quickly, scrambling from the room.

That left the two older bots alone with each other.

Quickly, faster than one would think possible for a mech his size, Optimus was to his sparkmate's side and enveloping her in his arms. Like all femmes, her frame was so small compared to his.

"I'm sorry," were the only words he could adequately say without feeling like a fool for doing this to her. Even those words felt horribly understated and inadequate. Slag all those who said he was good with words.

Upon his tender touch, Elita gathered herself, snapping out of her stupor. Optimus's presence in the room was enough to bring her back to the land of the functioning. Rebooting a few systems that had gone on the fritz in the light of her partial shut-down, she pulled together the downloaded information once again and went over it for a second time, this time without frying a circuit. She was stronger than that!

She took a few moments to process the immediate situation, replaying the words her audios had caught when she hadn't been listening.

A faded smile crossed her faceplate, pressed as it was to Optimus's broad chassis.

"Don't be sorry. You should be anything but _sorry_," she said, forcing her voice to sound stronger than she felt. She felt utterly hollow and cold. The effect of trying to sound strong was hindered slightly by the muffle of her voice against a hard metal chest.

"But you-."

"I was shocked by the mission statement, I will admit that," she said, pushing herself away so that she could look up into the profoundly blue optics of Optimus Prime. In his optics she could clearly see his turmoil written out for her to see. It was a library of pain and regret written out for her to read. By the way his optics were searching hers, Elita knew he was reading her pain as well.

"You must allow me some excuse to overreacting when I find out my bonded has assigned himself a mission that could either mean his destruction, or the salvation of this world without any forewarning to said mission." She sighed and touched his faceplate. "Any sane femme would have reacted in the same manner."

Elita laughed bitterly to herself; Chromia didn't count. She wasn't always functioning with every circuit in her circuit board.

"It was callous of me to send you that report as I would have with any other commander. I should have told you in person, discussed it with you _far_ in advance. You should not have found out about this decision the orn it was made official. It was an extreme case of misjudgment on my part; I can only imagine what you went through when Bumblebee delivered the specs, and for that I can only say that I am truly-." Words died in his vocal processor as Elita's hand gently pressed over his mouth.

"I've been allotted my time for ridiculous overreactions, Optimus. I am functioning fine now. I will admit that it still hurts, knowing that you kept this from me, knowing that you will be leaving so soon, but I am still here, I'm still alive, and I'm telling you that you don't have to be sorry." Her gentle blue optics searched his faceplate, studying the familiar, hansome, polished visage she knew so well.

She scooted away from her bonded and indicated that she wanted him on the recharge berth with her. Optimus complied easily. They sat beside each other for a long, silent stretch of time.

Her delicate hand raised to her chassis. "Somehow I knew this orn would come…" she said softly. "I knew it in my spark… that some orn, your duty as Prime would take you away from me…"

"Elita-!"

She shushed him with a long, loud sigh. "I just didn't think it would be so soon. I thought I would have more time with you." Her arms curled around her frame. "Now I regret working so much, becoming so engrossed in my duties that we grew apart."

"I did that, Elita. I don't know when it happened, but sometime during the war, I started thinking with my processor instead of my spark; I started choosing duty over love-."

"We're both at fault, then," she said softly. The tiniest of laughs puffed out of her, floating on the air like ghost. Optimus wondered for a moment if he even really her laugh at all, and then she spoke. "But, I've had vorns to prepare for this. I knew it was coming. And now I'm more worried for your well being, rather than mine."

"There is no need to worry for me, Elita. I am fine." He said, but the voice he spoke with was anything but. "Although, Ratchet may have a different opinion…"

"I'm sure he does," Elita replied, crawling onto his lap and turning to kneel on his legs to look him straight in the optics. "But I _know_ you, Optimus. I know you far too well to believe that you are any bit as fine as you say."

With expert ease, and no resistance on the other party's behalf, the femme eased back the thick protective armour that covered Optimus's chest, revealing in all its brilliance, Optimus's spark. For a few moments, Elita simply stared at the beautiful energy that crackled and glowed within her bonded's chest, her own spark answering to the presence with an aching pulse of its own.

"I know that deep in here, you're doing nothing but regretting your decision," Elita finally said. Her hand gently ghosted over the retracted armour, feeling warmth radiate from the smooth metal. "You feel sorrow because you are leaving me here for this mission; regret that you assigned yourself the mission; helpless because you know there is no other who could possibly lead the mission half as well as you. It is a pain that hurts terribly, worse than any wound inflicted by a Decepticon, because it is a matter of the spark."

Illuminated by the glow of his spark, Elita became an image of ethereal beauty that he burned into his memory banks and swore to keep it forever. Her voice was soft as she spoke every truth he did not want to say, faceplates holding as much pain as he felt, her optics drawn to his spark as she spoke to him. Her rose-colored armour shone in the dancing light, giving further beauty to the already enchanting, intricate armour she was equipped with. The armour had been forged in the Crystal City just for her; made light and thin for a femme, but deadly strong for when engaged in close range battle.

"You know me too well, and yet I fear I drastically underestimated your own strength," Optimus admitted. He reached up to gently run a hand down the length of Elita's back. "I came here expecting to find…"

"Someone broken?" Elita offered. _"Afraid?"_

"Yes."

Another faded smile appeared on her faceplate. "Elita One knows no fear."

Optimus nodded, a chuckle reverberating through his open chest. "And here you are, stronger than I am."

A single slow shake of her head denied the proud claim. "No, you are far, far stronger than I am, Optimus, not only in combat, but in spark as well." Well aware of the large hand now running over her back in gentle strokes, Elita gently reached in and stroked a finger along the outer edge of the spark cage. A pronounced shudder ran through the mech's large frame. Sensitive.

"Your spark has always been so gentle, so kind… you can't help but burden yourself with the pain of every other warrior you command. I know you felt it. Sometimes it tears you apart imagining what you are sending your Autobots into, like it hurts you now to imagine Ironhide and Chromia and whoever else is going to volunteer. I could never carry such a mantle."

Optimus felt her fingers gently caressing the outer side of his spark case. It reminded him of their younger vorns, enthralled with each other, exploring each other through interfacing and eventually through sparkbonding. His cooling systems kicked in as internal systems temperature rose slightly.

"Sometimes, I find it difficult myself," Optimus admitted. "How is it that you are so wise to all my burdens?"

"I am the sparkmate of Prime," she said simply. "It comes with the territory."

"And to that, I am eternally grateful. I came here not knowing a single word to say to you that seemed adequate for such a… solemn occasion."

His audio receptors caught a sad laugh. "You never were good with words around me."

"Words were not always needed between us."

His optics found hers again and the meaning of his words was felt all too well by her. Everything that words could not convey passed between them. Elita was given the understanding that this was Optimus's place as Prime to go on this mission; she accepted it now with a grim determination as she gazed into her bonded's optics. It would cause them pain. They would have to sacrifice. But this was for the good of them all. And in return, Optimus was gifted with Elita's acceptance of his position where before this he had felt calm, unvoiced bitterness. She knew, she understood, she wouldn't begrudge him for this.

A weight was lifted from both their processors.

Out of the blue, Elita's hands delved in and cupped Optimus's spark. A strangled noise came from his vocal processor as he curled forward, over the kneeling form of his bonded as she stroked the energy in his chest. Several waves of euphoric energy shot through his neural circuits. His frame shuddered harshly and internal temperatures shot up drastically.

"What are you-?"

"What was that about not needing words?"

Another raucous shudder, one which had his hands tightening around Elita's frame, his thumbs nudging away at her own chestplating. With the shifting of the metal and the influx of cool air on her heated systems, she shuddered and emitted a groan. Insistently, Optimus probed at the exposed, sensitized systems, roving over the cavity that held Elita's spark cage. Bright energy arced between them and the femme released a far louder cry.

Optimus found himself quite smug as he watched her.

She wasn't giving up without a fight though. Her fingers, cupped around his spark, wriggled quickly like she was trying to tickle the flickering ball of energy. Her delicate fingers were smaller than his, finer, able to move about in the confines of his spark case with ease. She used that tactical knowledge to her full advantage. Firestar bragging about her abilities to interface? Ha! She had nothing on Elita One and sparkbonding!

Circuits already set on edge with all the previous playing Elita had been doing with his spark, Optimus nearly overloaded as she continued to wriggle her fine little digits around. Cooling systems were now working desperately to cool the ever rising temperature of his internal systems. Servos and hydraulics hissed as his frame moved with every stroke upon his spark, vibrations traveling through the entirety of him as pumps and lines and motors thrummed with hot, pent up energy

Even as imminent overload warnings flashed before his optics, he still stared down at the diligently working femme who continued to stroke and tickle and hold his spark. It was hardly fair that she have all the fun. With hands that had gone slack without him knowing, he took up the small femme and grazed her exposed systems with his own heated touches.

To his surprise, she appeared to be trying to resist his advances. Her frame trembled, and yet her faceplate was set determinedly as she continued on with her work in his spark case. _No, no, you silly mech! I'm doing this for you! _She thought with a slight amount of exasperation.

Optimus was not to be swayed, though. He continued on even as Elita tried to resist. As frustrating as it was trying to pleasure an uncooperative femme, she soon succumbed to the roiling energy that was arcing ever more rapidly between their two open chests. Her vocal processor issued a few melodious cries that conveyed exactly what she thought about Optimus pressing his own digits to her rapidly pulsing spark.

Unable to stand the distance between their two frames, Optimus lay back on the recharge berth and brought the femme up so that she hovered just over his exposed spark. Her entire frame trembled as she looked down on him, her own spark open for him and him alone. Heat and energy and passion stirred between the two, pushing away the fears and the pain and the sorrow.

There was an astrosecond as Elita's hazed optics met Optimus's that more wordless meanings passed between them. Elita's purpose for resistance had been for him. She had wanted to give him a few moments of pleasure that were all his own, where the weight of the mantle he carried did not weigh so heavily on his shoulders. As she had so eloquently said, he had burdened himself with the pains of all his comrades, and it had been her wish to free him from that- if only for a few moments. Despite all of her own anguish, as his sparkmate, she still treasured his own happiness above hers. All she had wanted to do was help him.

Optimus rolled on the berth so that Elita was trapped beneath him. His forehead pressed to hers intimately, optics shuttered, frame poised above hers. Once more their bond allowed for silent words to be conveyed. As Optimus pressed his spark to Elita's and the energy that had been slowly building between the two of them cascaded over in a brilliant shower of bright blue light and sizzling electric sparks, Elita One knew very well that Optimus would not be truly happy unless she was right there by his side.

Overtaken in perfect rapture of the moment, their sparkbond renewed with fervour as sparks merged and danced together. Energies exploded with rapid-fire waves of euphoria through their neural circuitry, halting all other functions to their frames other than the ability to enjoy the all-consuming feeling of being one. Of being _whole. _For those fine few moments, nothing else existed in the universe aside from Optimus's gentle and yet so very strong presence entwining itself with Elita's as her own kind but so wise self threaded through his spark like it had always belonged there.

They were together. _Inseparable_. No matter how large the distance got between them.

They were sparkmates, for Primus sake. Nothing could keep them apart.

Not even the search for the Allspark.


	3. Of Jazz and The Twins

Alright! I got some response! My desire to write has been reignited! Burn of flame of writing, burn! No deleting this fic anymore! I am writer, hear me ROAR!! And as an extra:

**Pheonix13:** Thank you so much for your warm response! And your suggestions for featured characters! I think it's awesome your trying to generate interest in the story by telling people about it in your own fics. I'm truly humbled. Just know that for your enthusiasm, this chapter also is yours for the dedication. I know I PMed you, but still, I have to say right here, right now, YOU ROCK!

**JML: **Thank you so much for recognizing my attempts at giving the femmes depth and inner strength. I'm all for girl power and I wanted the warrior femmes of the Autobots to live up to the strength it would take to fight a war. Don't worry, I don't plan on having everyone going at it all the time, some chapters will be neutral. The couples you listed are definitely going to host a chapter… somewhere… and the spelling mistake, yeah, my bad. I knew I made it but forgot to go back before I posted. Sorry.

**JessyJazz: **I got to work! See! And here's a chapter hopefully to your liking, featuring Jazz! I hope you like my portrayal of him. Doesn't have him with Prowl, though, that's a future chapter. XD

**Stripperella: **Your pleas for non-deletion have been heard. I want to thank you humbly for both of your reviews, as well as saying that I "nailed" Optimus and Elita. I was both flattered and laughing insanely.

_Jet Judo_, a direct reference to an extremely unsuccessful fighting technique the twins had tried to use against the Seekers once. Sideswipe claimed that they only had to work on it.

And um… Jazz's accent, _oh the horror_. Inconsistent, I know, but I at least tried. I think I was closer to his original earth slang in G1 than I was to the slang he was using in the movie. Please don't begrudge me.

...

Down in the lowest levels of the Autobot base, under layers upon layers of thick metal shielding, energy force fields, dampening feilds, and hidden behind the thick door to the firing range that Ironhide and Chromia had _just _exited, Jazz, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker were laughing their afts off. Loudly. With reckless and wild abandon.

As soon as Ironhide was out of audio range and they deemed it safe to duck into the firing range, they had fallen into a roaring fit so badly it hurt. Had Ironhide caught them in their laughing fits, he very likely would have been insulted. Incensed. The poor saboteur and twins would have been vaporized on the spot. As it stood, the door was thick enough to muffle them, and Ironhide was probably more engrossed in his mate at the moment, so they laughed long and hard until they could no longer see straight.

In the end, Jazz was supporting himself against the doorframe as he howled, his intakes wheezing. Sideswipe bent over double, hands on knees, vocal processor nearly blowing a fuse as he crowed. Sunstreaker had collapsed on the nearby bench, using his gun as a support as his entire frame shook with uncontrolled mirth. There were some things in the universe that were just universally funny. What they had just witnessed was, by far, one of them.

"Primus, if Ah ever get ta look in that old mech's optics again an' keep a straight faceplate, it'd be a miracle!" Jazz chuckled ruefully as he fought for control of his Cheshire grin. In all honesty, his faceplate was starting to hurt from the grin. "_'Very difficult,'_ he says! Aw slag, Ah don't even wanna process it!"

"Jazz, _no _mech wants to even _attempt_ to process it! It's just that bad!" Sideswipe said. He righted himself, but still held a chuckle or two. "Never _ever_ do I want to process it, e_ver_. The pit would rust over first. The idea of two old bots like them going at it- _urgh_, my coolant just freezes."

"Especially an old model like Ironhide!" Sunstreaker added emphatically. "Primus, anything but that!"

"_E__specially_ not something like Ironhide!" A full bodied shiver of utter disgust wracked the red-armoured warrior. "He's an old, old, _old_ model. I mean he's a _really_ old, cranky, rusted model; he was old even when we were young. I would prefer to think he just isn't configured for that sort of thing!"

A cheeky grin replaced Jazz's mirthful lopsided smile. "Oh, c'mon now, we're all brothers in arms here, we're all fightin' the same war- no need ta be so harsh. Ya know how hard it is ta get some good interface time when you're under threat o' attack at any time?"

Sideswipe made a noise like he was trying to clear his intakes, the designation _"Prowl"_ coming vaguely to Jazz's audio receptors. The saboteur smirked. Sure, there was _him_, but he wasn't referring to his own activities with the tactician. He meant the rest of the poor deprived mechs he worked with. Within the Autobots, he'd managed to come across some pretty desperate glitches.

Sunstreaker scowled, shrugging his shoulders. "I've never had a problem getting what I wanted when I wanted it." And even if he wasn't able to coax a relatively good looking Autobot into his berth for the night, there was always Sideswipe to fall back on. Sharing practically the same spark as they did, it always made for an interesting interface session.

The special ops commander gave a good natured shrug. "Alrigh', aside from those of us gifted wit' good looks or sparkmates, it's a tough time gettin' any action 'round here. 'Hide an' Chromia are pretty damn lucky ta still have each other after all this time. If Ah didn't know them as well as Ah do, Ah'd say it was a slaggin' miracle that they're both still alive." He shook his handsome head. "But, knowin' them, it ain't no more a miracle they're alive than sheer dumb luck."

"They're too mean to die," Sideswipe snorted.

Jazz tipped him an agreeing nod. "Damn straight they are, but frag if they ain't good at what they do. After all they've been through, ya can hardly hold it against 'em for just doin' their old funky thing down here-."

"Primus, Jazz! No!" Sideswipe suddenly gasped, optics wide. "Their 'old funky thing' is the stuff that nightmares are made of! I don't want to think about relics like them doing anything funky!"

"Don't see what's got yer servos in a knot- it's not like age matters much ta us, right?" Jazz laughed.

"Age, no, but models, _pit yes_," Sunstreaker asserted ruthlessly. The older the model, the more unpleasant it was to imagine them doing anything. But, Ironhide and Chromia's age did play a slight role in it- they were older than the pit, after all. _Gross..._

Jazz grinned, visor shining with impish delight. "They've been sparkmates fer vorns, right? Way before the war-," he paused to check the extensive files he had on every prominent Autobot in the ranks, "-yeah, they was bonded even 'fore Optimus became Prime. Damn if that isn't a long time! They'd have ta have some tricks stashed away in their subspace pockets. Bet they've been there an' back wit' experience, show us a thing or two if we asked…" It was exceptionally satisfying to see horror and disgust erupt across the faceplates of his friends.

Completely nonplussed by his own train of conversation, he glanced around the training room thoughtfully, seeing the noticeably recent blast marks along the walls left in the wake of plasma explosions. There were quite a few marks around the room. "By the looks of it, Ah'd say they were in here awhile, too. Doin' Primus knows what… Hard training an' all, Ah suppose-."

"_Have you no dignity, Jazz?!_" Sunstreaker cut in, a hint of pleading in his hissing voice. "You're gonna make Sideswipe go on the fritz!"

It was close enough to reality to be true. In those few short moments of Jazz speaking, Sideswipe's overactive processor had already managed to compile several vastly scarring images of Ironhide, Chromia, and their potential activities in the room; each was enough to make him want to purge his tanks- or at least wipe his memory banks clean with a bucket of acid. He was all for laughing at the old mech, but picturing him getting busy? Frag that!

"It's all natural, though- the way Primus intended it," Jazz replied teasingly. "They ain't no different than Firestar an' Inferno getting' caught in here a few orns ago."

Sunstreaker shook his head, incredulous. "Oh yes they are. Chromia and Ironhide- ah, Primus, they're _ancient, _Jazz. Nobody wants to think about what _old_ bots are doing."

Sideswipe stared at his twin with a dawning look of horror, optics dropping to the metal bench that Sunstreaker had collapsed on while laughing. "Aw, slag… they probably interfaced on that bench, too…"

With a look of terror, Sunstreaker leapt from the bench he was seated on and spun to face it with a look that mirror his brother's. Comically, he held his gun aloft as if the bench were some creature about to attack.

Jazz broke out in a new fit of laughter. "You two are about as mature as a pair o' younglings," he told them in good humour, only to be countered with mulish scowls and rude gestures.

"Let's just do what we came here to," Sunstreaker groused. "Start the program, Jazz."

"Since ya asked so nicely, Sunny," Jazz teased, hopping over to the controls. On his heels came the usual curses when someone dared use Sunstreaker's long list of embarrassing nicknames.

"While you do that, I'm getting out my own secret weapon," Sideswipe said with a devious grin, ignoring his brother's hissy fit.

What that secret weapon of Sideswipe's could have been remained a mystery to Jazz for a few moments longer as he turned his back on the melee warriors in order to access their wanted program and boot it. Familiar chinking reached his audio receptors as he turned around; the sound of cube rattling against cube, a gentle slosh of liquid following. A small scuffle broke out between the brothers as Sunstreaker reached for something that Sideswipe had obvious set aside for himself.

Jazz eyed the glowing stash with interest as it was left in the open, the red and gold warriors throwing themselves to the side in the haste of their squabble. A very impressive stash, if the saboteur did say so himself. Either Sideswipe was a good packer or he had someone managed to expand his subspace pockets to fit all the energon away. Even better was the fact that it wasn't just any kind of energon either, but Sideswipe's own brand of _banned_ high-grade he made himself in the secrecy of his own quarters. From experience, Jazz knew there was no finer stuff in all the base.

"So, high-grade an' a firing range, eh?" the saboteur asked to no one in particular since the twins were busy grappling with each other. A grin spread across his faceplate as the battle program came online. "Always a good time."

Making a beeline for the high-grade, he managed to swipe a cube off the top as he leapt into the air and easily flipped over the impressive stash. A move like that would have gotten him some enamoured glances from envious Autobots, but generally the Twins were too enamoured with their squabbles (or, in Sunstreaker's case, his reflection) to notice or care. In all the same movement, Jazz's free arm converted to its weaponry mode so as soon as his feet touched ground he was opening fire on the Decepticons that just materialized in the room.

The twins were still locked in their own personal battle for dominance as holo-Decepticons began to rain plasma and missiles down on them. Sensors picking up a rapidly approaching missile on a direct course for his brother's back, Sideswipe grunted and shoved his shoulder into Sunstreaker's chassis, throwing the yellow mech off him and out of the way of the incoming danger.

"Watch the paint!" Sunstreaker yelled, cursing fluently over the micro-sized scratch that had appeared on his front, only to have to duck and roll as a Cybertronian jet made a move to take his head off.

"Watch it yourself!" Sideswipe called, prancing away from another barrage of firepower. "I gotta make sure my own aft don't get fried!"

"Like anyone would notice a couple more scorch marks on you," the golden laughed. He engaged his battle programming and took stock of which simulation Jazz had chosen for them. Sensors showed a multi-adversary program consisting of a six mech Decepticon team, all with aerial capabilities, best known as the Seekers, (or more affectionately known as by Autobot mechs as 'slagging pains in their afts'). Intermediate difficulty, but with an annoying factor of ten since trying to keep a sensor lock on six high speed jets at the same time tended to fry a couple circuits; generally this was not program meant to test the strength of a mech, instead it was to improve targeting and tactical abilities as well as improve endurance and agility.

Meaning to question Jazz on his choice of training simulation, Sideswipe beat him to the punch.

"Hey, what's with the glitch brigade?!" he yelled over to the saboteur, who was having the time of his life outmanoeuvring an attacking Thrust by performing a series of quick back flips.

The other mech flashed him a grin before taking a swig of high-grade and answering, "thought it'd be nice, y'know? Let you two practice those funny moves of yours-." He cut off to fire on the encroaching hologram. As burning plasma headed for the nose of the jet, it abruptly turned upward. "Them moves you picked up from yer stuntmech orns, right? What'cha callin' it now- "Jet" somethin'-?"

Dawning excitement crossed Sideswipes faceplates. "Jet Judo!" he replied enthusiastically. "Frag yeah, that's what I'm talking about! Thanks, Jazz!"

"No prob'! Anythin' for mah favourite twins!"

Sunstreaker grunted a series of curses, too engaged in a grappling match with a very insistent Ramjet to care. "Frag off, slag-face-!" he growled, pressing his entire weight into the attacking holo-mech. Ramjet, programmed only to attack and nothing more, monotonously pressed his own attack, right shoulder shifting to reveal a deadly looking energy-pulse cannon. It fired once, missing Sunstreaker's head by mere molecules. The paint blistered from under the extreme heat.

Optics grew wide with fury as sensors picked up on the damage. "Hey! I _said_- FRAG OFF!" he roared. In a risky move, he suddenly took good hold of Ramjet's hands, yanked backward and allowed himself to fall on his back. Curling up his legs, he thrust his feet into the mech's abdominal plating and used every ounce of power he had to propel his legs up and throw the hologram over his head. With a satisfying crunch of metal on simulated metal, the armour dented in and Ramjet was hurled far over head and skidded along the ground.

Getting up and running to the fallen jet, the _very_ fragged off Sunstreaker kicked his head in until it was nothing but scrap metal. "You do NOT mess with the paint job!" he raged to the pile of now disappearing pixels.

"Hey, Sunny! Watch out!"

What could have been a warning by Sideswipe to alert his brother to the oncoming threat of the heavily armoured Dirge gunning to take Sunstreaker' golden head off was actually a warning to prepare Sunstreaker for his brother jumping on his back and using him as a springboard. Leaping onto the golden back, he catapulted up and over, heading straight for the Seeker.

"What the pit was that, you fragger?!" Sunstreaker roared.

Sideswipe howled as he landed squarely on his target's back, locking his knees around the wings. "That, bro, was freaking amazing! Thanks for the lift, Sunnyyyyyyyyyyyyyy~!" He leaned forward slightly to grab two nearby antennae and used them as reigns. Wrenching himself to the left, he caused the jet to serve sharply, nosecone grazing Skywarp's side, sparks flying everywhere.

"Slag it, 'Sides, don't call me Sunny!" Sunstreaker screamed after his brother.

"But he's got the righ' idea, don't he?" Jazz yelled as he ran up behind the other mech. Using the same springboard technique Sideswipe had executed flawlessly, he launched himself from the yellow mech's back into the air. As Starscream looped by, he used his electro-magnetic abilities to drag himself close enough to the jet to grab hold and go for a spin.

"Do I look like a fragging launching pad to either of you?!" the yellow mech yelled up to his whooping comrades, only to receive no reply.

Glowering with furious intent, Sunstreaker began targeting the underside of the jets that were now being used as piggybacks. An explosion to his near left caused him to tear his sensors away from Dirge's propulsion system to focus on the roaring Thrust coming back coming around. Sensors screamed alarms at him, alerting him to the rapidly enclosing form of Thundercracker coming at him from the other side. No time to attack the both of them and escape with his paint job intact, he rapidly calculated who was going to cause the most damage and turned to viciously fire on Thundercracker. Deterred, the jet took to safer air again.

Thrust was nearly upon him, so with his arms up to protect his vital systems and spark, Sunstreaker bore witness as Dirge barrel rolled straight through his fellow jet, causing Thrust to explode into a shower of pixels.

"No one messes with my bro!" Sideswipe crowed, pumping his fist into air. The half full energon cube he had clutched in his fist splashed on to his armour in his excitement. Before anymore could be wasted on cheering, he chugged the rest with a fervour and tossed the cube overboard.

Too busy reaching around to unsubspace another high-grade cube he had kept for himself, made from a particularly good batch he was unwilling to part with, the melee warrior failed to noticed that he was quickly running out of air space.

Sunstreaker noticed, though. "WALL!"

Too late.

The ensuing crash was cringe worthy of even the most battle-hardened mech. Screeches of twisting metal rang true off the high-vaulted walls, blue fire and black smoke adding a roar that was like some beast from the pit was looming inside the explosion. A burst of pixels announced the destruction of another hologram. Then came the form of a red mech dropping from the air gracelessly, hitting the ground with a painful crash of metal to metal.

Seeing the distress of the situation, Jazz quickly connected with the firing range's programming and switched it to defensive mode for a time out. As Starscream stopped trying to buck him off, the silver mech leapt from his ride and landed smoothly in his alt mode. Shaking off the minor impact, he took off for his fallen comrade.

Sunstreaker was already there, dragging his twin into a sitting position and leaning him against the same wall he crashed into. Two nasty dents were going for the mech, one right upside the head, the other concaving the front of his upper torso.

"C'mon bro, speak to me!" Sunstreaker demanded.

Sideswipe garbled something that didn't fit the description of any known language Jazz had ever heard. Concerned that the crash had done some serious damage to his processor, Jazz kneeled down and locked optics with the dazed mech.

"Ya okay, buddy?" he asked.

The response was a little more reassuring this time. Processors catching up with him, the red mech managed some shaky Cybertronian. "Yeah…" Sideswipe's hand reached up to the dent in his head, wincing as he felt it. "Ratchet's gonna kill me, though. I was already in earlier for a few dents Brawn put in me."

"You slagger, you should have been watching where you were going!" Sunstreaker seethed.

Sideswipe turned his optics to his brother and grinned sloppily. "Awwww, was my dearest brother gonna go on the fritz over little ol' me?" he teased, only to receive a sharp swipe to the arm.

"Break up the siblin' love fest, you two," Jazz said as he looked up at the circling jets. The program was fine as it was for the time being. "Let's walk it off an' then get back ta the simulation."

Refusing help, Sideswipe stumbled in odd lines towards the door, veering towards the benches, and then seemed to think better of sitting on them and sank next to the cubes of energon still sitting on the floor. He grabbed one and immediately downed it in one go, successfully dulling the pain in his processor. Sunstreaker groused in his normal way and sank down next to his brother, grabbing two high-grade cubes of his own and starting on them.

Because he knew it would bother them, Jazz sprawled out comfortably on the bench that Ironhide and Chromia had supposedly spoiled and outstretched his claw-like hands for his own cube of high-grade. He was quickly given the satisfaction of seeing horror and disgust erupt across the twins' faceplates. A cube was tossed to him after a brief deliberation of whether or not they should share. With the social wheels greased and Sideswipe looking better now that he had a bit more high-grade in him, the Special Ops commander decided to cut the quiet.

"One pit of a warm up, huh?"

"You mean a warm up _from_ the pit," Sideswipe replied just as cheerfully now that the initial daze of crashing into a wall had worn off.

Jazz raised his high-grade to the twins, toasting them. "Ta high-grade an' the firing range," he said, "always a good time!" They raised their cubes in return, then the three of them tipped back their energon and it was gone.

Sunstreaker watched as Jazz lounged on the bench in his usual cool-made-easy way, casually breaking the rules as he went for another cube of high-grade. "Y'know, with you and Prowl being the new petro-rabbits of your floor, I would have thought you'd be more careful about doing stupid stuff like this," he said coolly, watching Jazz smirk in reply.

"Where's the thrill 'n that?"

Sunstreaker snorted. "I don't even know how you put up with a mech like Prowl. He glitches over everything."

Jazz shrugged. That was just the way Prowl was, it was part of his programming. "Ya don' know him like Ah do."

"I don't think I'd want to. I get enough of him when he's on my aft for everyone of Sideswipe's stupid-aft pranks."

"Hey, you go along with them!" Sideswipe piped in.

"Only to shut you up!"

Jazz tuned out the twins bickering easily, a second nature gifted to Autobots who had been fortunate to be around them long enough. Speaking of Prowl, he had something he had to talk with him about… the new mission that had _just _been issued. Bumblebee had run into the three of them in the upper levels as they had been preparing to trek down to the firing range, and since Jazz was commander of the special operations division he was privy to the mission specs. He downloaded the information the moment he received the data pad.

It was a Crazy. Stupid. Unthinkable. Suicide. Mission for only a crazy mech with a death wish to sign on to.

In short, it was his kind of gig.

With Sunstreaker and Sideswipe leering over his shoulders at the data pad, it had been in his good spark to tell them what was on it and that he planned to volunteer. From that moment, it had been decided that the training session they were about to embark upon was going to be 'going away party' of sorts. Sideswipe had ducked back into his shared quarters with Sunstreaker to retrieve something that had turned out to the celebratory high-grade. No better good party than one where you could get intoxicated and shoot things.

Only thing was how Prowl was going to take it when he broke the news to him about his plans.

Not that they were sparkmates or anything, but they were slagging close. Close enough for an exclusive relationship at least, which usually came shortly before sparkbonding. They were close enough for Jazz to care about how he should break the news to the tactician.

Knowing Prowl, he would want to volunteer as well, and how would that work out? What if they were both accepted for the mission? The crew wasn't supposed to be that big; would they be able to keep their "petro-rabbit" status on the down low?

Snapped from his thoughts by a chink on his armour, Jazz looked up in time to see a second empty cube coming for his head. Ducking in time, he laughed and tossed his own empty cube back at Sideswipe. Resigning himself to going to see Prowl right after the training session was done; Jazz pushed off from the bench and stretched.

Not even the slightest weave in his stance, a testament to his formidable ability to hold his high-grade.

The twins rose with the same unerring grace, ready for some more Jet Judo and aft kicking, both exceptionally unfazed by the high-grade they had consumed. They ranked up there with Jazz for their truly astounding high-grade holding capabilities.

If only they could have a drinking contest with the Decepticons for the fate of Cybertron, those fraggers would be so screwed.

"Okay, so who do we have left?" Sideswipe asked as he watched the jets fly by.

"Starscream, Skywarp, and Thundercracker," Jazz counted off. "Think we can handle 'em?"

Sunstreaker gave him a haughty look. "Too easy."

"Alrigh', let's begin." Connecting with the program, he switched it back to offensive mode and prepared for the onslaught.

The next joor saw a series of finely executed acrobatic feats of amazement that had anyone been watching they would have thought it was an actual show to be paid for.

The next joor also saw the consumption of enough concentrated high-grade to knock out any sane mech for a long, long time. Jazz, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe though, still fought on with their normal flare, albeit with a bit more weave to their step.

This time around, Sunstreaker got his own chance at trying out some of his own Jet Judo moves. He had Thundercracker barrel rolling like a mad mech through the room just as he twin whooped in maniacal glee sitting astride a wildly bucking Skywarp. His earlier crash did nothing to dampen his spirits.

At one point, a dangerous game had broken out between the twins, one that had involved trying to be the first one to shoot down the other's jet. They had wasted more ammo and energy on trying to shoot each other down than they ever did trying to shoot the real Decepticons down in an actual battle. The game only ended when Sideswipe had bargained his best high-grade for Jazz's assistance, and with fine high-grade on the line Jazz was all but too happy to online his magnets and force Sunstreaker from Skywarp.

Evading both Starscream's attacks as well a vengeful Sunstreaker's rain of attacks, Jazz revved flippantly and back-springing away. Playing with the both of them, he transformed into his sleek alt mode and sped away, doing several laps of he room untouched by anything before putting on extra speed to come up on Sunstreaker from behind and transform back to bipedal form in time to land on the taller mech's back.

Putting him in a playful headlock, Jazz rubbed his knuckle joints on the yellow mech's head until there was sparks. "Waz'sa matter, Sunny? Can't keep up?" he taunted laughingly.

Above them, Sideswipe gave off a battle cry and threw his weight heavily to the nose of Skywarp, causing the holo-jet to take a sharp nosedive, straight through the top of Thundercracker. Leaping off in time to save himself the damage, the red mech landed heavily nearby and rapidly shot at the mid-air collision. Plasma lit the air, roaring, and then exploding as they impacted with the remains of Skywarp and Thundercracker. Their parts detonated with satisfying cracks, finally disassembling into nothing but showers of harmless pixels.

Seeing his brother in cranial distress, he rushed to help. Peeling Jazz off of Sunstreaker proved easy enough, keeping a hold of the silver mech was notably much hard. An easy flip propelled the saboteur over the red mech's head, only to land spectacularly behind him.

"This has gone on long enough," Sunstreaker growled. He was over-energized to the point of blacking out and low on ammunition. He looked like slag thanks to all of Sideswipe and Jazz's fooling around. All he wanted to do was pump Starscream's aft full of fragging plasma and go back to his quarters for some much needed recharge- and then repaint and polish every inch of his armour.

"If we all fire at the same time, we'll take 'im out 'n one shot," Jazz said. He was as antsy to finish the simulation as the other two, just for other reasons. Prowl, he reminded himself, _Prowl. _"On three." He instructed. "One..." Targeting sensors sought the target. "Two…" locking on and calculating trajectory. "THREE!" FIRE!

It was always a satisfying thing to blow Starscream up, real or hologram, no matter how many times you did it.

Simulation over, the firing range's projectors shut off and the lights dimmed back to their original setting.

"_Whew_, now that was pretty fun, wasn't it?" Sideswipe grinned.

"Never been ta'a better party," Jazz replied, patting the mech on the shoulder. The three of them were in relatively good condition for being over-energized and armed. The range was a mess though, full of scorch marks and littered with empty energy cubes. Wow, had they really drank that many? Well, that meant it wasn't his visor making the room appear to slant slightly to the right, it was just his optics. He retracted the visor but the room remained tilted.

"Sorry Ah can't stay for the after party clean up, but Ah got somewhere else ta be righ' now," he said, once again patting Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker narrowed his hazy gaze. "Where?" he asked warily.

Jazz offered a smile with too many meanings. "Wit' Prowl," he replied, making his way to the exit. He stopped in the doorway just before he left, turning to say something just because he knew it would bother the twins the most.

"An' the best part about it all? Me an' Prowl ain't _that_ old, so ya can picture us gettin' busy all ya like!"

He ran before they could catch him.


	4. Of Bumblebee and Ratchet

This chapter was a lot harder to come to me than I thought it would. I wanted to do something with Bumblebee for this chapter, since I've already gone through Ironhide, Optimus, and Jazz, but every time I had an idea for a chapter it slipped away. There were so many things Bumblebee could be doing, where he could be, who he could be with, so finally this idea came and I latched on before it could flitter flatter away. Kill two birds with one stone, here's Bumblebee and Ratchet! Watch out, long chapter ahead!

Special thanks to **JML, JessyJazz, VAwitch**, and **Stripperella**! Your reviews are always most welcome! To anyone else, I welcome some feed back! Please, read and review and enjoy!

* * *

Few mechs liked working the graveyard shift. It was possibly the most boring time to be on duty in the Autobot base. _Nothing._ _Ever. Happened. _Literally! It was like the universe had decreed that every graveyard shift ever was to be accompanied by processor-numbing boredom and an itching desire to deactivate one's self just for something to do.

Anyone even remotely entertaining, or havoc causing, in the base (…Sideswipe, Sunstreaker…) were either in recharge, or elsewhere setting up for one of their latest mayhem-causing brawl-ensuing pranks. Just the bare circuits of the Autobot forces were up. And the bare circuits were boring.

Not even the Decepticons bothered to do anything during the graveyard shift.

Mirage had told of a time when he had infiltrated one of the Decepticon strongholds in the deepest joors of the night, he had found each and every one of the slagging Decepticons in recharge. Or offlined from high-grade consumption. He had sworn to Primus over it. Thus explaining why there never were any attacks at night. Lucky fraggers.

Although, there were some mechs that liked the graveyard shifts, they were rare though.

Bumblebee was miraculously one of those few mechs.

Grant you, he was also one of those few mechs who didn't mind whenever he was scheduled to work, insanely early or slagging late, and would actually _stay_ late after a shift to help a friend out. He'd even been known to pull a double shift if a mech was in a real pinch. It was just part of his programming to be helpful like that. Ironhide was constantly warning him that always being so helpful to everyone was going to turn him into a pushover.

The last thing Ironhide needed to worry about was Bumblebee being a pushover though. Being raised among the many formidable warriors of the Autobot forces since the time he was a sparkling had insured he'd be a strong mech. Ironhide had been one of the mechs responsible for his training. He could stand his ground in any situation; he'd proven himself the orn he stood against Megatron to prevent him from getting to the Allspark. He was a hero in that respect; able to be faceplate to faceplate with the lord of the Decepticons and still be active to tell the tale… well, not so much _tell_, vocal processor crushed and all, but he could whistle sort of and play sound bytes.

Bumblebee was SO not a pushover. But not even an encounter like that could change his friendly helpful streak.

Speaking of which…

A crash resounded throughout the sleek hallway the yellow mech was wandering down, pattering and sliding following soon after, and then a voice whined loudly, "Aw, slag it! That's just great! Perfect! Makes my night a whole lot better! Frag it!"

Quickly identifying the voice as that of Powerglide, Bumblebee made his way up the hall towards the source of the cursing voice to see what had happened, and too see if there was any way he could help. Turning the corner, he saw several crates thrown along the hall, their contents scattered up and down the floor, and at the epicenter of the mess was a cursing Powerglide trying to collect his fallen cargo.

"Slag! Do I look like a messenger mech to anyone?! Do I?! Huh? Ratchet's gonna deactivate me if any of this stiff is dinged!"

Bumblebee gave a couple of clicks to alert the other mech to his presence. Via digital com link, though not his favorite way to communicate due to its lack of emotion, Bumblebee was able to transmit a quick hello.

Powerglide started, then looked up. "Oh, Bee, hey," he said, sitting back in the middle of his mess with a sigh. Bumblebee gave a jovial sound byte and bent down to collect a data pad that had managed to slide so far down the hall. He looked up with raised optic ridges, the other mech obliging to answer the silent question as he dragged the nearest crate to him.

"Ratchet's slag, he's been harping for it ever since those survivors from the outpost attack came here four orns ago. Used all his supplies up on them and now he needs more. This is the second med supply trip in two orns- Red Alert is already starting to fritz at the idea of having to go on a supplies run to another base if Ratchet uses up all we got."

Bumblebee nodded. He'd been in earlier with Ratchet helping with the poor mechs; they were in pretty bad shape, recovery would be slow. But this was war, injuries were to be expected. Medical supplies were _always _in demand. _"Are we really that low on med-supplies?"_

Powerglide shrugged. "Not really, but you know how Red Alert is."

Bumblebee nodded his understanding._ "So you got stuck with delivery duty?"_

"Tsh, I wouldn't be doing this if Prowl didn't order me to," Powerglide replied. "He double shifted, getting on all our afts about the night shifts still being shifts and that we were still expected to work. Told us that the day crew was getting behind 'cause we didn't finish up all our slag at night. It's not _us_ though that make the day shift fall behind, it's _them_." He threw his arms up in frustration. "They're all still hung over from the high-grade they had before they went into recharge the night before, the slaggers."

The minibot snorted distastefully and crossed his arms over his chest. Bumblebee resisted the urge to point out that Powerglide was often one of those hung-over mechs when he had a day shift rotation.

"I told Prowl exactly why the day shift got behind and he got all glitchey at me for it, so I ended up on delivery duty- I'd rather he'd thrown me in the brig! I heard Ratchet hasn't recharged once since those mechs came in and fire's just coming out his vents now."

Bumblebee gave a couple of revs, the equivalent for laughter for him. Ratchet was a little extra-ornery today when he'd seen him. There was also the rumor going around of the CMO facing down Optimus Prime earlier in the evening and ordering him to his quarters.

Primus help anyone who stumbled into the infirmary for repairs tonight.

Powerglide muttered on with curses as he grabbed a couple of energy transfer lines and threw them into a crate and then tossed an energon purifier on top. Protected cases containing cubes of vital purified low-grade were placed a little more carefully in the crate. Those were closely followed by other instruments required in the exchanging and replenishing of fluids in a transformer's frame.

Bumblebee nimbly began to collect the various medical supplies nearest to him and deposited them into a crate to Powerglide's left. Much of what he was picking up was temporary metal plating commonly used as a way to close a gaping hole in armor until it was able to regenerate on its own. The crate that held them was the largest of the three Powerglide had been carrying. Fitting the varying sized plates into the box snugly, they came right up to the top edge of the box. That was more temp-plating than Bumblebee had ever seen in his lifetime.

Powerglide eyed the temp-plates with a degree of sympathy. "The poor mechs must be pretty fragged up if Ratchet used up all the temps he had on them. Normally he's got loads," he said. Bumblebee shrugged. "Sucks having them on though, you get absolutely no sensation through them- and they're as ugly as pit. You'd think you could paint 'em to match the armor instead of going around looking like some glitching half-done paintjob, but _no, _can't do that or the Hatchet'd reconfigure you."

Bumblebee whistled in agreement. Temp-plating was good for a mech who'd been blown full of holes, but it was a dull, dusty grey colored metal that was not at all pleasing to the optics. Painting it was a big no-no though, because the paint could affect the healing process, or get in past the patch welding and completely mess up the systems below. As a youngling, he hadn't listened and painted the temp-plate on his forearm anyways (having gotten it when in an unsupervised adventure down to Wheeljack's lab), later having to have wires replaced in his arm when the paint had degraded them.

It only took a few breems to collect up the last crate's contents, mainly consisting of cases of wiring and circuits that were commonly lost in battle when armor was blown away and the exposed innards were fried. Such was the life of a warrior. Wiring and such was constantly being replaced after battle, but you were stiff for so many orns afterwards until you worked the wires in.

Sticking true to his helpful nature, Bumblebee hefted the large crate containing the temp-plating and jerked his head in the direction of the medical wing.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Powerglide growled, stacking his remaining crates and lifting them with ease. "Lead the way, buddy."

* * *

Although fire was not spewing out his vents when the two mechs arrived, it was quite obvious to anyone with optics that Ratchet was very much indeed on his way to a severe core meltdown. Optics that were usually bright and sharp had dulled with exhaustion and a deep scowl marred his faceplate. His hands were as steady as ever, but steps had slowed to a drag and his broad shoulders held a worn out sag to them. Tired clicking and whirring quietly came from his internal systems as he moved, stressing the already distressed systems as he forced himself to function just a little longer.

Late as it was, though, a medic's duty was never over. Bumblebee and Powerglide waited in the doorway for Ratchet to finish with the patient he was seeing before they barged in.

"...and my motor controls have been shaky ever since Optimus arrived to look after her. I've never seen her like that, Ratchet; she's always been so strong! I thought nothing could shake her! I can't seem to get it out of my processor..."

Ratchet continued with his routine scans of Moonracer, checking and double checking the results as she went on to describe her shaky motor controls, shortness of intake valves, and disruptions in her equilibrium stabilizers.

"Have you tried to recharge yet?" he asked.

Moonracer nodded. "I tried, but I couldn't seem to engage the subroutines. All my processor could focus on was seeing Elita One on her recharge berth looking so… so distraught."

He nodded and made note of it. "It sounds like you have a mild case of anxiety, then," he said. With worn steps he turned to retrieve what he needed from the one of the shelves around the room and returned to Moonracer to shift aside a section of her armor on her upper right arm. "This is just a moderate sedative that should calm you down enough to allow you to engage your recharge cycle," he said gruffly. "If any of the symptoms persist, contact either me or First Aid right away."

She nodded, looking away as the drug was administered through her exposed energon lines.

Finally, Ratchet turned to acknowledge the two mechs standing in his doorway. Eyeing the cargo they carried, he grunted something akin to _"about time,"_ and took Powerglide's load from him.

"I need you to escort Moonracer back to her quarters for me," he said. "Make sure she gets there in one piece before the effects of the sedative kick in."

Powerglide went rigid, optics sweeping from the looming form of Ratchet to the delicate Moonracer sliding from the examination table. It was common knowledge that the minibot had an attraction to the femme, and for all his self-confidence he had yet to approach her. "I- I'm on duty," he replied weakly.

Ratchet's gaze darkened, and was that the flicker of flame from a vent? Standing to his full height, towering over both minibots, he glared down at the flyer. "I'll inform Prowl that you're doing something for me," he ground out, leaving no room for argument. The silent threat of _'do it or I'll dismantle you' _hung venomously in the air.

Bumblebee nudged the flyer with his shoulder, urging him on. _"Go on, she's sedated now, so she can't run screaming from you when you try a horrible pick up line on her." _

In return, Powerglide roughly elbowed him back.

Moonracer peered up at the three shyly. "I don't want to cause any trouble. I can find my own quarters," she said.

"No, no, you won't cause trouble!" Powerglide said suddenly, his vocals working faster than his processor. As Moonracer eyed him with wide,surprised optics, the flyer uncharacteristically stuttered for words. "I- I'd be glad to- uh- escort you." He held out his arm awkwardly and allowed the femme to take it, drawing her to his side like some bot from an old holo-vid. Moonracer giggled, finding the act gallant.

"Stop fooling around and get going," Ratchet ordered, not in the mood to be putting up with nonsense at the moment. The two bots were shoved out into the hall.

Looking a little star struck at his own turn of luck; Ratchet not throwing a laser scalpel at him, not having to go back to Prowl and boring inventory right away, and getting to escort a beautiful femme back to her quarters, Powerglide's own confidence came out a little. He guided himself and his escort back into the hall and led the way.

"And _away_ we go," he said with a grin on his faceplates. He took a couple steps one way before Moonracer laughed and turned them around to head in the right direction.

Ratchet stood next to Bumblebee and watched with narrowed optics as the pair disappeared down the hall. Once out of sight, the old bot sighed and made his way back in, motioning for the smaller yellow mech to follow. The three crates they carried were carefully set down on the examination table.

"She was the first, but I doubt she's going to be the last," he said out of the blue. Bumblebee started from the sudden statement, but cocked his head to the side to inquire further.

Ratchet retrieved a data pad from somewhere on his person, it was the data pad containing the Allspark mission. "I'm sure you read this on your rounds of delivering them, did you not?" he asked wryly.

_"Would that make me a good scout if I didn't?" _was the reply.

The CMO grunted something that could have been a laugh, leaning up against the table wearily. "Once this gets around to the rest of the lot, there will be a lot more bots suffering from more than just anxiety attacks coming in here. Always happens whenever a big mission is posted."

_"News travels fast around here. You'll have bots pouring in by mid-orn tomorrow, if not before." _

Ratchet ground his gears. _"Lucky me,"_ he replied darkly. "So long as it's not those slagging twins crawling in here for me to bang out their latest dents, I think I can make it." He dug through the top layers of each of the boxes. "Now, where is the inventory list-?"

Bumblebee retrieved the data pad he had picked up earlier and handed it over. Ratchet went over it with a surgeon's precision. His expression only got darker as he read it over.

"Figures," he murmured, dropping the pad and digging into the supplies. "They shorted me, again! Think I can make due with the dictated ration portion, but it isn't worth a slag." He slammed the temp-plating on the table a little harder than what was necessary. "Wait an astrosecond… are these dinged?!" he roared in outrage as he saw a small scuff on one of the plating.

"_It doesn't look like it; that could just be dust… or your optics are playing tricks on you," _Bumblebee offered, hoping to avoid a ship wide crisis.

"My optics are functioning just fine," Ratchet hissed, inspecting his temp-plating with a more critical eye. "It's everyone else's processors that seem to be glitching constantly." Under normal circumstances, he would already be storming in the direction of the guilty party responsible, tools in hand, but now all he could manage was a black glare and slamming the dented plates on the table in frustration.

Watching the temps receive the abuse, the minibot discreetly nudged the crate containing the more fragile fluid exchange components away from the medic's wrath, unpacking them carefully himself so that they remained in one piece.

"-we'll see what they think of the ration size when they're coming in for repairs and I don't have enough supplies to fix them," Ratchet continued darkly. "Maybe I'll just use this _dented _plating on them, see how they like it. I specifically requested two crates of temp-plating, and certainly more than this dismal amount of transfusion low-grade." He turned to Bumblebee with an exasperated expression.

"Is there someone on this base that wants a whole lot of mechs to die?" he asked, annoyed. "Or, do they think I'm Primus and can work miracles from nothing?"

Bumblebee stared up at the medic with a sympathetic look. _"You make it seem that way sometimes." _It was a very honest response; Ratchet had the gift to repair almost any mech no matter the damage. His temper was something to be feared, but his skill as a medic was revered.

"All I do is my job," Ratchet replied roughly, but his voice was more tired then reprimanding. "Nothing more."

"_No one does the job better than you, though._"

The complement hung in the air unanswered and a little awkward, but Bumblebee knew it must have been appreciated by the over-worked, underappreciated CMO. So rarely was he thanked by his patients before he started throwing things at them and chased them from his med bay.

A relative silence settled in as the two mechs worked together to put away the supplies. In the background, soft whirrs of machines and unobtrusive beeping of monitoring devices created a lonely little melody in the medic's room. On the nearby recharge berth, a deep in recharge Windcharger was recovering from a nasty electro-magnetic backfire that had did a nasty number on his circuits, revving softly with each cycle of his intakes.

Dare anyone say it? It was almost peaceful in the med bay.

Unlike many of the mechs in the Autobot ranks, Bumblebee had not developed the innate fear of Ratchet that seemed natural for everyone else to harbor. That could be because he had never had a welding torch aimed for his head though. The CMO, despite his temper, had always been a mildly benevolent mech to the minibot, opting to host him in the med bay at the odd time to have an assistant handy, training Bumblebee in the art of Autobot repair. Even if being a nurse was not Bumblebee's primary function, nor his most desired one, he made a pretty decent one.

Besides, he liked helping Ratchet out.

The said CMO watched him from the corner of his optics as the small mech flittered around the lab like it was second nature for him to be putting away med supplies. "You're not on duty somewhere, are you, Bumblebee?" he asked. He knew the minibot had a strange habit of wandering around the base late at night even when he wasn't on duty.

"_No, I was just taking a walk when I came across Powerglide. He needed a little help, and so do you. I don't mind staying- if that's alright with you?" _

"You should be recharging."

Bumblebee gave the medic an incredulous look, pointing at him with an accusing finger. _"Look who's talking!" _

Ratchet growled. "I don't have the luxury of recharge right now, not with so many mechs in critical condition-." A small blip went off before Ratchet's optics, halting his sentence and alerting him that one of his patients was in need of a new low-grade transfusion. Sighing, he went to the cooled unit that housed the low-grade that had just been set away. "There is no rest for the weary around here," he said. "Not when so many depend on you."

One wall of the infirmary was windowed along its entire length, revealing the intensive care unit on the other side so that whoever was on duty in the med bay would always be able to keep an eye on the critical mechs in recovery. The door to the ICU was disguised to look like a panel in the wall, but it slid aside as the CMO approached. As a sign of his own exhaustion, he bumped into the doorframe as he passed through, rattling the hard crystal panes.

"_Ratchet, maybe I should-."_

"I am able to function just fine, Bumblebee. I do not need your assistance in something so simple," he snapped, harsher than he had intended.

"_You push yourself too hard."_

"The same could be said for a certain minibot with a crushed vocal processor," snipped the medic.

"_A certain cranky medic should know when to let things go and let others help,"_ Bumblebee griped.

"A certain nosy scout should know when to mute it and let me do my job."

"_Your job doesn't require four orns without recharge!"_

"It does if I'm trying to save someone's life!"

"_You're not the only medic on Cybertron, Ratchet!"_

"But I am the Chief Medical Officer of Iacon's Autobot base, and I am going to do my slagging best here before I'm gone!"

Bumblebee opened the digital link to retort, and then stopped. He processed what Ratchet had said several times. _"What do you mean before you're gone?!" _he demanded. Though the transmission held no inflection, the minibot's wide stance and fisted hands clearly displayed his surprise and wariness. _"Where could you possibly be going?!"_

Ratchet chose not to respond right away. He walked through the rows of offline mechs in the ICU until he reached the one who had setoff his internal alert. Poor Scattershot, looking like a bad patchwork paintjob of his hot red armor and dull grey temp-plating, energon transfer lines hooked up to his arms where armor was either removed or shifted, multiple sensor arrays hooked up to monitor any change in his critical condition. Being a hotheaded young warrior, no doubt half the mech's injuries were due to his own petulant behavior.

It never got easier seeing a mech who was once so vital now barely holding on.

As if his own sensors could pick up something that the tedious monitoring machines could not, Ratchet swept Scattershot with an array of sensors.

He could still feel Bumblebee watching him from the doorway of the ICU, silently demanding an explanation.

"Think about it, young one, where could I possibly go where my talents would be most needed? Other than here that is" Ratchet asked, tediously studying his sensor read outs for some sign of improvement. No such luck. They were exactly the same as they had been a joor ago when he was last in here. No change in anyone's conditions; no improvements.

"_The search for the Allspark…"_

Turning away from the mangled and patchwork frames of the patients in the ICU unit, the CMO refocused his attentions back on the minibot watching him with so much helpless concern that it touched his spark.

"Yes. I plan on volunteering for the search for the Allspark," he explained. "In a few orns time, if I am accepted, I will be gone and all the duties of the CMO will be left with First Aid. Before I can leave anyone in charge of this place, I need to get done all I can so that I can leave this place with a clear conscience. If that means I go for a few more orns without recharge, then so be it."

"_I never thought you'd be one to volunteer." _

"It is not so much my own desire to go, but part of my duty as a medic. This mission is going to take us into uncharted territory, with Decepticons on our afts the entire way. There is no way to accurately predict what will be encountered out there, but it is safe to assume that not all of it will be benign. Engagement with the enemy is imminent, much to Ironhide's pleasure no doubt. Optimus will need an experienced medic onboard to cope with whatever situation arises."

"_You know, the twins are really going to miss you. Who else is going to put them back together with the same great humor that you do?" _

"I hope you mean that with sarcasm," replied the medic wryly. "I am pretty sure those pit-spawn will figure out a way to cope without me. As will the rest of the Autobots. I simply hope that you will be as good an assistant for First Aid as you have been for me."

Bumblebee let an impish expression cross his faceplate, optics lighting up mischievously. _"Who says I'll be here to assist him?" _

A rueful sigh escaped the medic. "So, you're volunteering as well? I should have guessed."

"_Like you said, Optimus is going into uncharted territory with this mission, and he's going to need someone to go ahead to some places to check it out. Who better to send then the best?" _

"It'd be pretty hard to send the best when Mirage is still here on Cybertron," Ratchet replied.

With his pride firmly punctured, the minibot deflated dejectedly. _"Ouch. Right in the spark, Ratchet."_

"You are way too young to be going on a mission as dangerous as this."

"_I could say the opposite to you."_

Ratchet felt a dry smile quirk his faceplate. "I believe Ironhide firmly holds the position as the oldest mech around," he replied.

"_Yeah, but he's got the cannons to back him up. You don't."_

"No matter the case, you are still not going on this mission."

"_Who are you, my Creator?"_

"No, but I'm still the mech who puts you back together after every time a stupid stunt of yours gets you blown apart. I absolutely forbid you from going on this mission."

"_We'll see what Optimus has to say about it!" _Bumblebee stomped his foot just as he did when throwing a tantrum as a youngling. It worked about as well now as it did then, procuring not the slightest bit of empathy from the CMO.

"I'm sure he'll see sense and find another capable scout," Ratchet argued. Oh, how thin his patience had worn by now; if he was arguing with any other mech, a laser scalpel would have already been airborne by now.

Bumblebee revved stubbornly. Didn't Ratchet get it? This was his chance to show everyone that he wasn't just the youngling running around everyone's feet anymore. He was a trained scout, able to gather information quickly and covertly, he was efficient and highly adaptable, able to fight with the worst of them when it came to it! If there ever was a chance to prove that he was a proud warrior of the Autobots, this was it!

An unpleasant throb began to develop in Ratchet's processor, warnings popping up and informing him that power cells were now completely drained and that his systems were going to offline forcibly if he didn't engage recharge soon. Slag, he thought he would have more time than this. Guess he wasn't as young as he once was.

He wasn't a scout for nothing; Bumblebee saw the waning in Ratchet's energy, the old bot was on the last dregs on his power supply. Even if he couldn't get an ounce of sympathy from the medic, it didn't mean he couldn't feel sorry for him.

"_Let's just drop the mission for now, okay? Truce?"_

"Fine. Truce." Even as ridiculous as it sounded to call a truce over something so trivial with a mech who had absolutely no chance of going on that mission anyways, Ratchet said it for the sake of the young one. There was no way in the pit that Optimus would let him on the mission. It was illogical. It was insane. No one in their right processor would allow someone as young as Bumblebee to participate in something so completely dangerous as the search for the Allspark.

Bumblebee offered up a kind look, smiling in his own way. He was completely oblivious to Ratchet's thoughts. "_There's a few hours left in your shift and you obviously won't make it without offlining. I'll cover for you if you would just take that berth over there and recharge for a little bit. No one is going to blame you for recharging." _

The offer was met with utter reluctance. But you had to hand it to him; he had dedication to his patients.

A sigh slipped out from the minibot, his frame sagging in frustration. Honestly, he was trying to help. _"Remember, this is the _night shift; _nothing ever, __**ever **__happens between now and morning. I'm not scheduled to work tomorrow, so I'm fine staying for you. I know the basics of being in here, so if anyone does come in I can help them. You'll get a few joors of rest. The base stays in one piece. Everyone's happy, right?" _

His baby blue optics pleaded mercilessly. Even as the list of possibilities for everything that could go wrong mounted in his processor, going on and on and on, the idea of catching a few joors of rest became too tempting.

Old gears groaning and hydraulics sighing, Ratchet slouched back to the free berth along the back wall of the infirmary. He fixed the yellow bot with a sharp glare before he laid down and activated the subroutines. "Are you sure you can handle the place for a few joors?"

Reassuring clicks and whistles issued from the mech in question as he cheerfully nodded. What could possibly go wrong?

Hoping he wasn't jinxing himself, Ratchet nodded to the young mech and gave a brief tired smile before stretching out on the berth. Less than an astrosecond later, he was out like a light.

Bumblebee eased himself up onto the nearest examination table and simply let his optics wander and the room.

Alright, he'd gotten the Hatchet to recharge, he had the med bay all to himself for a few joors… what now?

* * *

As it turned out, _'what now'_ consisted of helping a singed and smoking Wheeljack clean a paint-blistering chemical off his armor after it had exploded on him when his experiment went awry.

It couldn't have been more than a few breems after Ratchet had dropped off that the floor had rattled ominously and the sound of something akin to thunder rumbled loudly through the halls, lights flickering and loose items on counters shaking in the aftermath. Given that the explosion had come from below and not above meant it had come from none other than their resident "mad scientist" engineer Wheeljack, a mech who easily could have been an explosives expert with how many times he had blown himself up.

So often was the occasion of something in Wheeljack's lab blowing up, that not even the bored stiff mechs sitting in the command center look up to guess the cause of the shaking.

Thankfully, Ratchet didn't even stir.

Wheeljack had appeared in the med bay looking worse for wear as his once pristine paint melted off in great gobs of fizzing goo. Bumblebee was forced to shush his desperately as he fell into the bay and clamored loudly around the room for a cleaning solution that would help him. Once the engineer caught sight of the resting Ratchet, he quieted considerably, allowing for Bumblebee to assist with scrubbing the paint peeler and the remains of his destroyed paint off.

That had been a joor or two ago. Wheeljack still remained, feeling that he could use a break from his lab for a while. He had taken up a spot next to Ratchet, leaning against the wall near the resting mech's head.

"I don't know what to tell ya, kid. Ratchet's right, you're still young. Optimus might want someone with more experience on the mission," he said with a shrug after listening to Bumblebee's passionate pleas and arguments and reasons for being the best for the job. "But that don't mean you don't have a chance. Everybody's got a shot, so if ya present you're argument right and give all the right reasons, I don't see why Optimus wouldn't consider ya."

"_I _need _to go on this mission! It's the only way to show everyone I'm not a youngling anymore!"_

Wheeljack's fins flashed dimly as he gazed at the yellow mech, then his optics traveled down to Ratchet and he reached out a hand to run along the mech's head. "Ya can't blame us for still seeing ya as a youngling though. It feels like only orns ago that ya were running around, painting yerself up ta look like Sideswipe or Sunstreaker or Jazz. There'll always be files saved in everyone's processors to remember ya like that. But there's also files of ya coming back from Tyger Pax. No one's gonna forget an orn like that. Ya proved yerself that day, kid, that you were as good as any mech."

"_I still feel like I need to do this! It's important! At Tyger Pax, all I did was let Megatron rip me apart while I just took it. People think I'm a hero for it, but I'm not! I didn't do anything!"_ He threw his arms in the air and paced the room. _"I mean, I knew what my team was guarding, they didn't but I did. When Megatron came, all I could do was mute it and let him rip my arm off. When the Allspark was launched, all I could do was grab him so he couldn't go after it. I grabbed him! It was stupid! He should have killed me! I didn't fight or anything, just grabbed him. I should have done more, something- but I did nothing! At least with this mission, I can show everyone that I can give as good I got! I want every mech here to know that I am every bit a warrior as they are!"_

Wheeljack watched and listened, fins flashing dimly as Bumblebee spoke; he never spoke of what really happened between him and Megatron at Tyger Pax. By request of Optimus, nobody ever asked either.

Slowly, Wheeljack eased away from the wall. "Did ya tell Ratch' that?" he asked.

Bumblebee paused, searching his memory files. _"…no."_

"Well, when he's online again, do it." The inventor paused to affectionately pat Ratchet on the side. "He cares for ya something fierce an' doesn't wanna see you hurt, but if he saw how much ya wanted this, I think he'd cave. He'd deactivate me if he heard me saying this, but I think ya should go for this mission. Give it yer best shot; give Ratch' an' Optimus and every old mech who'd listen the same spiel you gave me and you'd be as good as guaranteed on this mission."

"_You think so?"_

Wheeljack shrugged. "I've been wrong before, but I got a good feeling about this."

Forgetting that he was trying to portray himself as a tough warrior mech now, Bumblebee rush forward and hugged the engineer. Fins flashing brightly, he hugged back and laughed a little.

"_Thanks, Wheeljack." _

"Nah, Bee, I ought ta be thanking you. I've been trying ta get Ratchet ta recharge for the past couple of orns, but he's been a stubborn slagger about it. Doesn't matter how much he's worrying me or whatever, he's always thinking about his job and who he can save- even at his own cost. I tried everything ta try and drag him out of here, and he wouldn't budge. And then ya come along and get him ta recharge without being assaulted. That alone takes talent."

Flattered, all Bumblebee could do was rev softly until Wheeljack drew away to draw a hand over Ratchet's form. "I only hope that he gets a few more joors of recharge. He hardly ever gets any as it is. Primus knows he's up all joors of the day and night, worrying over patients, trying to figure out a new why to save them. I don't wanna imagine what he's gonna be like on the mission; he'll probably stop recharging all together. A bit of recharge here will do him good-."

The doors hissed open, admitting the last two mechs who would make it possible for Ratchet to recharge. Neither noticed that their favorite medic was currently out at the moment. Both were banged up pretty good, and Sideswipe was dragging and unconscious Cliffjumper behind him. Everything about them screamed high-grade was involved.

"Okay, Ratch', before ya ask- most of the dents are from the firing range!" Sideswipe yelled loudly, his voice slurred. "An', we weren't drinking in the firing range, either- that happened after! We had a couple of cubes at Nebula One!"

Bumblebee stared at the twins in horror as they weaved further into the room. From behind him, Ratchet stirred discontentedly. Desperately, he made rapid shushing movements in hopes that the intoxicated fools would get the hint and mute it, but they didn't. They got louder.

"Fragging Cliffy here said something about my paintjob!" Sunstreaker hissed, kicking the down minibot. "I got him good, but he fought back!"

"I jumped in to help!"

"And then Brawn jumped in!"

"So we had to defend ourselves!"

"Sideswipe! Sunstreaker! Quiet!" Wheeljack hissed, shooting a terrified look over his shoulder at Ratchet.

"And then Sunny starts saying he'd beat any short stuff that jumped in!"

"Don't call me Sunny!" Sunstreaker roared, punching his brother with a loud clanging blow to the chassis.

"Sunny! Sunny! Sunny! SUNNY!" Sideswipe sang in a bad falsetto, being so over-energized making him numb to pain.

Bumblebee was practically writhing with desperation and he waved his arms and tried to get the twins to silence themselves. Wheeljack was in the same boat, doing his best to keep his voice to a hissing low while still demanding the intoxicated pair to get the pit out of the infirmary.

"In the end, Brawn was dragged off us!" Sunstreaker shouted over his brother.

"But Cliffjumper wouldn't get off, so I broke an energon cube over his head! It was full- I think… That's why he's here with us!"

"Ratchet, you have to fix us!"

"Fix us now!"

"Shhhhh! Come on, you two! Be reasonable!" Wheeljack begged.

"Hey! Ratchet?! Where are you!?"

"RATCHET-?!"

Suddenly, something shot out from between Wheeljack's and Bumblebee's shoulders, firmly smacking Sideswipe square in the forehead. There was a stunned silence after, one in which the red melee warrior keeled over flat on his back. Sunstreaker's optics only _just _registered that his brother was down before a second object shot out and caught him between the optics, knocking him out as efficiently as his twin.

With creeping dread and horror, Bumblebee jerked himself around to see a sight he really didn't want to witness.

Ratchet was up. In his hand was another trusty tool of his, a welding torch this time, wielded like a weapon now in his enraged state. Optics were wide with recharge-deprived fury. He glared down at the twins with a pit-spawned expression that meant the two would probably online to find themselves reformatted into high-tech tables or less.

As Bumblebee stared on, he heard gears grind and servos whine, hydraulics hiss and armor rattle and crack together. To his utter amazement, and absolute terror, a few tongues of hot sparks shot out the medic's vents.


	5. Of Chromia and Ironhide II

This chapter has been the chapter from hell! I have had to rewrite this stinking thing four freaking times before it was even half-decent, and I use the term "half-decent" _very _loosely! GRRRRR! This chapter didn't turn out the way I wanted at all! Ironhide's personality is sooooooo whacked! I totally sympathize with those who find it hard to write Optimus in character; Ironhide is to me what Optimus is to you, a pain in the ass to write! Too bad Ironhide is one of my favorite TF's.

So, for all those who have ever had trouble keeping characters in-character, and you've torn your hair out trying, I dedicate this chapter to you!

As well, I wish to humbly thank my kind reviewers of the last chapter; thank you so very much **JML**, **VAwitch**, **Stripperella, **and **lady tecuma.** Your reviews are always inspiration to me!

* * *

In the split second that Ironhide was awoken, he registered that his internal chronometer clearly stated that it was morning. _Early morning_. It was early morning to the point of ridiculous for being up at such a time, but he couldn't possibly sink back into recharge. Not with the rude awaking he'd gotten.

A few short joors of recharge was all he managed after the little fallout he and Chromia had in the firing range before a roar thundered throughout the entire base, successfully rousing the weapons specialist.

_And every other peacefully recharging Autobot in the slagging base._

Cannons were out and charging before he even was completely online. Instantly ready to do battle with whatever pit-slagging Decepti-frags had gotten into the base, Ironhide just about decimated his door to get into the hall.

Up and down the corridor, mechs were crashing out of their own rooms, halfcocked and looking dazed from the early morning rousing.

"Are we under attack?!" Bluestreak called from a couple of doors down.

Trailbreaker tumbled out his own door across the hall. "No, Blue, that's our new alarm system!" he shot back sarcastically.

"Mute it!" Ironhide barked. He attempted to connect with the command center to determine the status of the base.

"_Prowl here," _The tactician's voice came over the COM calmly, not at all like the base was being attacked.

"_It's Ironhide. What's our status, do we got 'Cons in here?" _Ironhide demanded. A few mechs took up positions at the ends of the barrack hall while Ironhide communicated with Prowl, their guns at the ready.

There was a pause over the link, Prowl speaking with other mechs in the command center for confirmation over the status of the base, and then he spoke just as calmly as he did before. _"No. The perimeters have not been breeched; our defenses are standing at optimal functioning capacity and have not been attacked. There is no Decepticon activity in the area that we are aware of." _

"_Then what in the pit was the slagging noise a couple of breems ago?" _

"_Noise?"_

Gun fire went off to Ironhide's right. Only a couple of warning shots were fired. The twin whines of titanic plasma cannons charging up filled the hall, the blue glow of super-charged plasma adding an ethereal glow to the polished metal hall.

"State your designation and faction or we continue fire!" Demanded Smokescreen. Trailbreaker took up the mech's left, prepared to defend against answering fire with his electromagnetic force fields- capable of dispersing any energy pulse blasts and scrambling the trajectory of launched missiles.

A high-pitched squeal rose up from around the corner, strangely familiar in pitch. No stated designation or faction, no answering fire. Only the squeal. Smokescreen tensed; his gun up and ready to fire. He sent out sensors for a rough identification of the interloper. A yellow streak suddenly came darting into view, unmistakably Bumblebee revving loudly and waving his arms to fend off the attack.

"Slag it, it's Bumblebee!" Smokescreen called to the tense Autobots, stepping aside as the minibot rounded the corner. He ran straight for Ironhide.

"_Status, Ironhide?" _Prowl asked. _"Has something happened?" _

"_Just Bumblebee. I'm going to see if I can find out what's going on from him. Ironhide out."_

"_Understood. Report back with whatever information you yield from him. Prowl out."_

Turning to the minibot and fixing him with a hard stare, Ironhide asked, "What on Cybertron is going on?"

The smaller yellow mech threw his arms up and looked furious. _"You were firing on me! That's what was going on!" _

"You could have been an enemy."

"_How many bright yellow Decepticons do you know?!" _

The weapons specialist crossed his arms and glowered down at the fuming scout. "Are being attacked or not?"

Bumblebee stared up at the big mech with a dumbfounded look on his faceplate. He took a few moments to process the question. Attacked? Not that he knew of. Although, that would explain why the other barrack halls he just ran through were in just as much chaos as this one, and why he kept getting fired on as he tried to run for his own room.

So if this wasn't an attack on Iacon, what could have gotten the Autobots circuits in a tangle?

"…_you must have heard Ratchet," _he transmitted after a fashion. _"He was pretty livid when Sunny and Sides came into the med bay-."_

Enough said.

Sunny, Sides, and Ratchet were enough to explain any monstrous roaring within the base.

"_I only just got away. Wheeljack's trying to calm him down now."_

"You… have _got _to be joking!" Annoyance thrummed in Ironhide's systems as he opened the COM link to Prowl and informed him of the situation. Shortly afterward, the base's main COM systems crackled to life and Prowl's voice came echoing through the halls.

"**Attention Autobots; to those of you who picked up an unusual "roar" emanating from within the base, we are not under attack. I repeat; we are not under attack. It is believed that the cause of the disturbance came from the Medical Wing, but there is no need for alarm. The situation is being dealt with. Please stand down and return to your previous stations immediately."**

The mechs in the hall looked to each other with varying degrees of disbelief and incredulity on their faceplates as they dropped from battle mode back into standard, powering down weapons and slipping them away. Ironhide growled ominously as he powered down his cannons and allowed them to fold back into his arms.

"_So… can I go now?" _Bumblebee asked.

"Yeah, get going."

The scout took off as fast as his legs would allow.

Faceplate scrunched in annoyance and disappointment that he couldn't blow something up, Ironhide glared around at the mechs continuing to stand awkwardly in the hall.

"You heard Prowl, get back to your rooms!" he barked at them before returning to the seclusion of his own quarters. He nearly expected to be facing down the barrel of a charged rifle when he entered for all the ruckus, but a quick glance toward the recharge berth told him that his femme was still deep in recharge.

He watched her for a few breems with a certain degree of disbelief; the femme could stay in recharge though _anything. _Iacon could come crumbling down around them and she'd still be blissfully offline. Not exactly the trait of a good warrior, but a holdover from more peaceful times when she had enjoyed the luxury of recharging for long periods of time. In consolation, she did have a certain peacefulness about her faceplate that she lacked when online.

Well, at least she got a few more joors of recharge instead of being up at this Primus-forsaken time. Just fresh from a mission, she needed the extra time anyways.

Feeling strange for standing in the middle of his room without a purpose, Ironhide wandered over to the side of the large metal berth, leaning against it to watch Chromia as she simply laid there. It was better than seething away at the lost opportunity to fight some Decepti-scum.

Not one to normally take the time to admire beauty of any sort, Ironhide simply watched the face of his bonded as it remained serene. He scanned her features carefully, from the arch of her optic ridges, to the sharpness of her olfactory sensor casing, to the slight pout the plates of her mouth were shaped into. She appeared too relaxed while recharging, as if there was no war going on around them. It seemed too false to the old warrior. Decidedly, he liked her better online, when the fierceness of her faceplate was alive and made her appear every bit as formidable a warrior as she was.

He fell for the femme when her guns were blazing, after all.

And they were sure blazing last night. Just like when they were young and fuming at each other for the stupidest things, like leaving parts of their weaponry collections lying around. When she had stormed into the firing range, rifle charged and aimed for him, there had been a moment when he thought she'd actually shoot. It wouldn't have been the first time her temper had tickled her trigger finger. He wouldn't have blamed her if she fired. In all truth, he probably deserved it.

Primus only knew how many gaskets he would blow if Chromia just out-of-the-blue decided to go on a suicide mission, never discussing it with him first, not even bothering to mention a word of it before hand. Had their roles been reversed, it would have taken a lot more than just some soothing and well chosen words to calm him down.

Maybe his age was catching up with him, or perhaps he was just getting soft, but the old warrior reached out a hand and ran it along the sleek metal of Chromia's frame. He savored how warm and alive she felt; deceptively fragile looking, but so much stronger than she looked. He prayed to Primus she would stay that way, whole and alive, until the war was over and they would see each other again. He memorized the feeling of her armor beneath his fingers, dip and curves, contours and ridges, committing all of it to memory for the long vorns in deep space where all he would have was these moments to look back on.

He would not regret his decision though. The Allspark meant everything. Without it, Cybertron was lost. He would do his duty with honor and he would protect Optimus and the chosen crew with his life if it came to it. The cause was far greater than just his life.

Chromia broke away from her recharge only to come online to being stroked like a cyber-cat. Well, _this _was certainly different from most mornings she came online. Most of the time, she ended up being alone on the berth and Ironhide would be already online and tinkering with his cannons. Or it would the other way around and she would be fiddling with her rifle or some other piece of equipment. Waking up to your sparkmate stroking you certainly was a treat, especially when it was _Ironhide,_ who normally thought showing affection meant going down to the firing range together and blowing up a few holo-'Cons.

Stretching luxuriously, systems purring as they came online, Chromia fixed her bonded with a heated smile. "Keep doing that and you'll find yourself on your back with your chassis open," she warned playfully.

He started, his hand ceasing its action. "Sorry I disturbed you," he stated slowly.

"Don't be. Best online-call I've had in vorns," she replied with a laugh. She noted how far away his optics looked and reached up a hand to run along his faceplate. "Something on your processor?"

"Everything," he grunted, pulling his hand back. The old mech was so easy to read at times; he was embarrassed at being caught acting so 'weak'.

Chromia slid closer to the edge of the berth, a small smile playing on her faceplate and lighting up her optics. "If 'everything' really was on your processor, I think you'd have a melt down. What's really bothering you?"

"Nothing."

"That's a big jump from everything."

Ironhide growled and turned away from his sparkmate. "I have been thinking about you," he rumbled quietly. "About leaving."

Chromia opened her mouth, and then closed it just as quickly. Now she remembered, Ironhide was leaving in a few orns. She laughed hollowly. "I think I'm still a little angry with you for that."

"I don't know what I'm going to do without you," he admitted.

"That makes two of us."

Chromia watched as her proud warrior sagged on his feet, finally looking his age for the first time. Too old. Just like her. A couple of gears grinded in his right shoulder, testifying to the injury he had sustained last night. Primus forbid, but they were getting _too old_.

The femme slipped from the recharge berth and crept up behind her towering mech. He knew she was there, he could feel how close she was just as she could feel him resonating with her. She placed her hands on the thick armor of his broad back and gently guided him around to face her.

"Please don't do this. Don't make it harder than it already is." She sounded weary now, tired even, though she just came out of recharge.

He broke away from her quickly, growling in frustration. His fist shot out and found the wall, leaving a fine sized dent in the once pristine metal. "I hate feeling like this!" he snarled.

"Like what?" Chromia pressed, suddenly a little defensive.

"Weak! Helpless!" he replied hotly. "Like you're already out of my reach, even though you're standing right in front of me!"

A hand idly smoothed up Ironhide's torso to lay over the protective armor that hid his spark. No matter the obstacle, Chromia still felt it pulsing against her hand. He was tense as he stared down at her.

"I hate feeling like we're galaxies apart too, but what can we do, Ironhide? It's like you said last night, you're an Autobot. You've _always_ been an Autobot. I swear, it's engraved on your spark. Part of your duty as that esteemed warrior of the ranks is to go on this mission and search for the Allspark-."

"I'll find it, Chromia-!"

"I know you will," she said softly. Too softly. He could see a fire stirring in her optics, reined in thinly by her own self control. Her hand on his chest moved to his faceplate; he had to lean slightly for her to reach properly. "I have no doubt in your abilities, and I have every confidence in Optimus as Prime and as leader of the mission. It's the waiting for you to return that might kill me."

Ironhide's expression darkened. "Don't say things like that," he growled.

"You know it's true," she said. There was a bit of frustration marring her faceplate. "We don't know how long you're going to be gone; it could be vorns, millennia… _forever_. It is torture trying to process knowing that you are out there somewhere and I am unable to feel you, unable to talk you or touch you-."

"I won't be gone forever," he said. The way he grabbed her arms as he said it, and how his optics burned into hers, it felt as if he was making an oath to return to her. Like he was trying to defy the universe by saying it. "I will be back, and I will have the Allspark."

All Chromia could do was nod slowly. Her hands dropped from his faceplate and fell back to his chest, gripping the armor. The dusky blue of her armor stood out so well against the pitch blackness of his.

"I don't want you to go," she said stubbornly.

"I have to." This was the same argument they had last night.

"I know… I know now." She still looked stubborn, the fire in her optics simmering like hot blue plasma. Somewhere in the blaze, she was hurting. She refused to show the weakness, but it was obvious anyhow.

Ironhide revved in frustration. This was one of those times when going down to the firing range together and blasting apart holo-'Cons wasn't going to fix things. He had been mistaken last night when he'd attempted the tactic then.

The feeling of not being able to help his sparkmate when she was hurting tore at him painfully, especially since he was the cause. He wasn't supposed to hurt her. He was supposed to protect her! Most of the time, that meant the use of insanely huge plasma cannons against Decepticons while she shot away with her energy rifle. That was the sort of thing both of them were designed for. But protecting her from sparkache was another thing all together. His cannons were useless against preventing it. He was helpless to keep it at bay. For a mech of action, he was loath to the idea of not being able to do something.

"Tell me what you want, Chromia," he demanded quietly. He tried to keep the pleading from his voice, but the way her optics looked up into his and the expression that spread across her faceplate made it obvious that she heard his imploring loud and clear.

"Forever," she replied firmly. "I want forever." Her voice held the strength of a femme who wanted something with every ounce of her spark and knew she couldn't have it.

"If I could, I would give it you," he said, remembering the words he had whispered to her the night before. _"I would give you forever, if it was within my power." _Primus, did he ever wish he had the power now. "Ask for something I can give you; something that will make you hurt less." _Something that will make me hurt less,_ he silently asked.

He felt so weak. Helpless. _Slag it._

And then something happened that caught him off guard. The femme before him laughed and hit him with her fists. "You are such a big tough mech," she said with an almost bitter voice. "Trying to find the easy way out of an emotional crisis."

An annoyed rev came from him. "I don't know what you want from me," he said. He hated not being to shoot something to fix it. His normal way of doing things was usually a lot easier than this. It generally worked for Chromia too.

Another laugh, another blow to his armor, this time harder. She laid her head flush against him, shuttering her optics. "Haven't I made my self clear, or are your audio receptors malfunctioning? All I want is _you, _Ironhide. Just you.

"I want to go down to the firing range with you and shoot the slag out of all the programs. I want to go to Nebula One and drink so much high-grade with you that we won't be able to walk back to our quarters on our own. I want to be able to feel your spark and know that your alive and be able to talk to you everyday and fight with you when you're being your normal slagging self." She pressed closer to him, her arms going as far around him as she could reach to hug him close. "I want all the nuisances that come with being your sparkmate… Even the pain, if it means you're still mine. I just want you."

A huff came from him. "Of course I'm yours, you silly femme," he grunted. "Always will be. You never have to worry about that."

"Good."

"I gave you my spark a long time ago. It never will belong to anyone else. But how am I supposed to give you the rest of what you want? The shooting and the drinking and whatever else you said- I don't know if you're asking for a little bit of a lot or a lot of a little bit?" He wrapped his own burly arms around her small frame and pressed her close to him, enveloping her in his embrace. "Whatever you're asking for, it seems like it would take the forever we don't have to give it to you."

When she hit him for the third time, she managed to leave a nick in the thick black armor. He grumbled his displeasure for being used as a sparring dummy and Chromia laughed.

"You agreed to give me the few orns we have left, Ironhide," she said. She pulled away and that reined in fire he had seen simmering in her optics was now a blaze. She looked revitalized and young again as she stared up at him with hard determination and hope. "However long we have left, I don't care. I'll take every orn I can get. If I can't have forever then I want you and only you for as long as I can."

"That's all?" he asked. To be hers and only hers for all the time they had left. Now that was an order he could gladly fullfil.

"Yes. That's all."

And suddenly she found herself being grabbed by large hands and hauled up from the floor. Her back hit the wall before she could process what was going on. Ironhide's faceplate filled her vision as he pressed his forehead to hers, optics burning with such an intense fire that she could practically feel the flames licking at her.

"Ironhide?!" she yelped, excited and surprised at the same time. She tried to modulate any kind of words to demand what the pit he was doing, but all her voice processor came up with was a funny squeaking noise. Ironhide's warm metallic frame pressed her fully to the wall, overpowering her with his presence. From his chest, a deep revving began that reverberated through his frame and into hers, setting her own internal temperatures skyrocketing and her frame began to hum in response.

Apparently she wasn't the _only_ one feeling young and revitalized again after so long of feeling old and rusted. Not a femme to be dominated by anyone, Chromia tried to fight her way out of her bonded's grip. She had wanted him last night but fell into recharge before the game got good. Now she was fully recharged and ready to play. She was not going to take this lying down… or pinned to a wall, as it were.

The hands that held her tightened their grasp ever so slightly, holding her completely still, which was frustrating when all she really wanted to do was reach out and slip her hands beneath his armor to play with the sensitive wiring beneath. When she had asked for him and only him, to shoot and drink and whatever else, she had meant to put this at the top of the list. She wanted as much of him as she could get for the next couple of days. Enough to last the next forever.

When the towering mech spoke next, his voice practically set her circuits on fire. He had dropped his voice to a deep, resonating tone that rumbled over her like powerful thunder before an electrical storm. He was serious and deadly and dominant and so very much hers.

"I may not be able to give you forever, Chromia, but if you want the few orns we have left, by Primus I'm going to give them to you."

Thankful to have something that he was able to do, Ironhide jumped on the task of filling his bonded's next few orns with as much of him as she could take, which was a double edged sword in the best of ways, allowing him to get exactly what he wanted; _her_. They were going to blast the firing range to pieces, and they were going to drink Nebula One out of all its high-grade, and they were going to do everything else she wanted of him- as soon as he got what _he_ wanted from her.

He pressed her harder into the wall, unafraid of crushing her. He knew her structural supports were far sturdier than they looked. His forehead was pressed to hers so that the only thing he could see was her faceplate, her blazing optics staring back at him. Systems thrummed hotly beneath heated armor, cooling systems coming alive to deal with the rising temperatures. Vibrations hummed between the two of them.

Ironhide chuckled as Chromia made a keening noise, trying to force her arms out from where they were pinned to her sides. "You wanted me, femme, now you got me. No escaping."

Oh, sure, she wanted the mech, but she wanted him on her own slagging terms! She glared back at him and fought harder, trying to ignore how her pump rate sped up and neural circuitry sensitized beneath her armor, waiting for touch. She didn't have to wait for long, as one burly arm kept her in place; the other roamed up her frame and began shifting aside armor to expose the purring systems beneath.

Seeing an opening in her bonded's distraction, Chromia brought her legs up and shoved him away. She slid from the wall and landed nimbly, as opposed to Ironhide stumbling back ungracefully. He hardly had time to reestablish himself before he heard a whooping war cry and a blue blur launched itself into his chest. His back hit the floor with trembling force.

Quickly, as if this was just another sparring match, Ironhide flipped over and had Chromia pinned beneath him. She grinned up at him, more alive now than she had been in a while. Her hands came up and shoved up under the armor of his right armor, jarring the already hurt gears. He hissed and recoiled, allowing her to slip away from under him. He suddenly found her on his back, legs locked tightly around him and her hands shoved underneath the armor plating into sensitive neutral circuits beneath.

He shuddered involuntarily. Tiny hands moved with delight over tense wires, causing the mech's arms to go out from under him on their own accord. She laughed in triumph. Before a growl rumbled through the mech beneath her and she was bucked off.

This was more like it. This was their kind of foreplay; roughhousing, wrestling, sparring, whatever you wanted to call it. Soft words and nice touches worked for some couples, but for them romance ended up being a lot rougher. A headlock was as good as "I love you" in some cases.

Landing on the couch with a gracelessly loud crash, followed by even more ungraceful cursing, there was no time to defend herself as Ironhide loomed over her. A last minute maneuver insured the use of one of her arms as the rest of her limbs were captured and immobilized. His hands delved into her already open chest cavity, tension wires inside practically singing from the attention. She let out a groan of appreciation.

"Giving up so soon?" he challenged, toying with her spark case.

Amidst rolling waves of rapturous sensation, the femme rose to the challenge exceptionally. The free hand that had previously been scrabbling at whatever was within her reach dove between their frames and dragged open Ironhide's own chest plating. Her hand immediately dipped into the pulsing hot energy of spark within. To her satisfaction, he groaned languidly. To get the upper hand, she pressed her advantage and pushed him back. One hand was still teasing her spark case while the other wrapped around her frame, so when he was pushed far enough back that the fell onto the floor, he dragged her with him.

They playfully wrestled about on the floor for a few breems, careless of the kinds of noises they were making. Chromia used her size to her advantage, slipping easily from holds that would have halted a mech much larger than herself. And Ironhide used his strength to his advantage whenever he had the opportunity to capture the sly femme and crush her to his chest. Hold. Break away. Tease. Attack. Pin. Slip away.

Threads of energy illuminated the room as their sparks passed closely tone another, calling tone another. Impassioned cried would rip from their vocal processors until they could no longer modulate proper sounds. Frames strained wildly, wrestling or otherwise now. Sparks would come in contact, heightening the stakes of the game as they grew closer to overloading.

Somehow, they ended up wrestling themselves beneath their recharge berth. The pair were quite unaware of the fact until Ironhide tried to rear up, clocking himself squarely on the underside of the berth. He keeled over backwards with a surprised yelp, landing hard on his back with a crash of metal on metal.

Chromia roared with laughter, perching herself proudly on her sparkmate's chest. "What did I say earlier about being _careful_ or you'd end up on your back with your chassis open?" she teased.

"Don't think you've won yet, femme," he growled.

Chromia laughed with a lightness that was refreshing and bold. "And what are you going do about it, old mech?" She crouched on his shoulder joints so that he couldn't maneuver to grab her, staring down at him with a pit-fire smile. "I've got you pinned."

A dangerous smile crossed his faceplate. "You've only got my arms pinned," he replied.

Everything lurched forward as Ironhide brought his legs up and managed to bend them around Chromia, using his own greater bulk and her off-kilter stance to force her back and trap her beneath his legs. Doubled over underneath the berth, Ironhide grinned down at her as he readjusted himself to loom over her. He presented her with a smile that was reserved for only her; it was rough around the edges but full of his strength and passion. She grinned back with just as much fervor, arching just a bit to allow white-blue arcs of energy to pass between them. They shuddered in unison, enraptured by the encompassing feeling of their sparkmate being so utterly close.

They had needed this more than they realized.

Wriggling, trapped beneath his bulk, Chromia gazed up at Ironhide with darkened, lustful, alive optics. "Nice move," she complemented.

"Had enough of me yet?" he asked, deep voice making the entire room tremble.

"I could never get enough," she replied, her voice nothing but a low, harsh purr.

"Good." His entire frame dipped above her, his spark merging into hers with a dominate, possessing presence that only belied the true care and compassion and devotion he held for her. Chromia nearly bent herself in half to get closer to the spark that was all Ironhide.

That was what she wanted.

Him and only him.

All of him.

Enough to last the next forever.

Ironhide collapsed above her, arms wrapping tight around her frame and dragging her so close that they could have threaded their wires together. Hard armor, shifted and compacted out of the way of their open chest cavities, mashed together. Chromia's fierce and untamable essence filled every ounce of him with her sense of wild strength and desperation to have him close. He complied with her need and dragged her fractionally closer.

A harsh, rapturous cry cut from her.

Bright, euphoric, spark connecting, wild light lit the room as they overloaded. Sensors went black with the surplus of sensory input. Visions went white as sparks exploded before them. Electrical misfires caused their frames to lurch together wildly.

_Sparkmates; they were sparkmates. She was his. He was hers. __**Sparkmates. Bonded**__. It meant forever. __**Forever. **__Even if their orns were few together, they still had forever no matter what. This was their forever. __**Together forever. **_

As the last of the wild waves of energy rolled over them and Ironhide disengaged himself slowly from around Chromia's shaking frame, he caught her optics and held them with an intense stare. He attempted to give voice to the sense that had passed between them, trying to make it as real as possible.

"No matter what happens, how far apart we are, we'll always be together. Forever. I swear it."

It took longer for Chromia to gain control of her vocal processor. All she could manage for the moment was reaching up to cup Ironhide's faceplate and nod vigorously.

Scooping her up from the floor, Ironhide backed out from beneath their recharge berth. As he stood, old gears ground together. Great, he was back to being old again. He moved to sit on the berth with Chromia still tucked in his arms. Surveying the room around them, it was obvious that they had caused somewhat extensive damage to the interior during their playful wrestling. Vaguely, Ironhide wondered where the smoking dent on the ceiling came from. It was a lot of damage to be done so early in the morning.

With a smirk, he glanced at Chromia. "Do you think we disturbed anyone?" he asked.

She laughed and shrugged, repeating the words Elita One had spoken the night before to the insatiable Firestar. "The walls are only so thick and audio receptors can only be turned off for so long."

Suddenly, the main COM systems crackled to life and Prowl's voice once again echoed through the halls.

"**Attention Autobots; to those of you who picked up unusual banging and shouts…"**


	6. Of Jazz and Prowl

Wow. Just wow. The response that I got from the last chapter nearly sent me out of the seat! You guys are seriously the best! I mean it! Thank you so very, very, very much to all of my readers and reviewers! I am truly humbled by your kindness.

I wish to sincerely thank **lady tecuma**, **caz**, **Ashes2**, **VAwitch**, **JessyJazz**, **JML**, **Pheonix13**, **HT**, and **Stripperella**. Your reviewers are what make this worth while!

Be warned, I'm testing the waters with interfacing- new ground that I'm walking on, since I'm pretty good with sparkbonding by now. Who better to write for my first plug'n'play chapter than Jazz and Prowl? I just want to say, yeah… not my best work. Sorry for the choppiness. But, I really wanted to get something up since it's been so long since I updated. I hope you enjoy!

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Pulling a double shift is nothing to shake a blaster at. It was one of those instances that made you think the universe hated you.

A double shiftis a grueling and sanity testing part of the job that wreaks havoc on the processor of any poor mech pitiable enough to get stuck double shifting. Times like those, when you're stuck working with the same mechs joor after joor, them slacking off as you struggle to get work done, them complaining and arguing as you try to order them to get back on task, that seriously tests one's resolve to not shoot an ally- no matter _how_ tempting the thought is.

There were only two good things about pulling a double shift. One was the amount of work it allowed a mech to get done, and two was the relief that came as soon as the shift was over.

The latter of the two reasons was what most mechs would testify to.

Prowl, on the other hand, appreciated the amount of work he could get done. But that was not to say that he did not appreciate being relieved of duty. No, this particular morning he found himself all but running from the command center the moment his shift was over- the last joors he had been forced to go through were a trial of sanity that he rather not stick around any longer for.

The beginning of the descent into spiraling chaos perhaps could be pinned on the singularly simple event of Bumblebee delivering the data pad containing information on the newly posted mission. That, on its own, was a neither threatening nor foreboding event. In fact, it was really quite intriguing. So much so, that he considered submitting his own request to be part of the mission. Even though Optimus declaring himself commander of the mission, thus leaving the Autobots without his command and firepower for an unknown amount of time, was tactically unsound in many ways, the need and desire to have the Allspark back again and safe outweighed almost all the objections.

Alone in his office, Prowl contemplated over the new mission. A task he easily accomplished while at the same time analyzing tactical reports from the outpost attack and writing up some of his own reports over the inventory stores they had that were beginning to run low. Eventually, his thoughts strayed to that of Jazz and what the flashy mech would think of the mission. No doubt he took one look at it and declared the mission his.

That seemed like a very _Jazz_ thing to do.

But that in its self was a little disturbing. By his normal, flamboyant nature, Jazz would not serve well on a mission that would demand cool, clear logic in the face of infinite possibilities to where the Allspark could be hidden, and the patience to sort out and search every possibility- Primus only knew how he got special operations when he couldn't keep his own mouth shut for more then an astrosecond. Prowl, on the other hand, was far better suited for such an undertaking.

Although the concept of separation came up, it was easily dismissed. They were partners, of course. _Exclusive._ They had been for vorns. But, they were not sparkmates; they had yet to take the leap into bonding. It meant that, if one was chosen for the mission, the separation from each other would not be as sparkwrenching as it could be. Yes, they would undoubtedly miss each other, only a sparkless mech wouldn't, but it would not be as detrimental as it would be to those who were bonded. Jazz's many undertakings with his contingent saw that they were away from each other for long periods of time, so the concept of being gone was not alien. If Optimus and Ironhide were able to sign on despite their sparkmates, then, comparably, it would be far easier for any other mech to sign on.

Broken from his musings to escort Optimus Prime to his quarters, Prowl should have known that confining the great leader to his quarters would spell chaos for the rest of the night. But Ratchet's medical orders were not to be argued with by anyone lest they wish to suffer physical harm, so Optimus was off, leaving Prowl to assume command of the nightshift. Easy enough. He'd been in command before, and the nightshift was famous for its monotonous nature. What could possibly go wrong?

In this case… _everything._

The first event that served as a forerunner to the bottomless pit of problems Prowl would soon encounter was a miniature mutiny staged by Powerglide and the less than enthused night crew after being critiqued on their working habits. That was easily dealt with by sending Powerglide away to act as delivery bot to Ratchet; a fair enough punishment, knowing the particular mood the medic was in. But then he didn't come back. Not for a very long time. And when he did come back, he was grinning enough to split his faceplate, going on about how some femme agreed to have a drink with him at Nebula One. The mech didn't do a bit of work the rest of the night.

Then, of course, Wheeljack's lab blew up. Again. Not too uncommon in the grand scheme of things, but still annoying when you're the one in charge and have to look after it. At least no one was hurt.

A fight just had to break out in Nebula One shortly after. Brawn had been sent to sort it out; a terrible slip up in logic in Prowl's case. The minibot never did return. Somehow, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe managed to evade everyone, take an offlined Cliffjumper as a hostage, and go off the sensor grid. It was a mad mech-hunt for a good joor at least, before the pit-spawned twins reappeared in the last place anyone wanted them to be. In the med bay. With Ratchet.

**A match made in the pit.**

Prowl must have done something supremely horrible for the universe to punish him like this.

The attack that came of it was of epic medical proportions. The record for the fastest dismantling of a Cybertronian had been broken spectacularly that night in the most terrifying fashion by the CMO. Reports stated that Wheeljack had to forcibly restrain him before it carried on too far. Bumblebee managed to escape by the gloss of his paint before a laser scalpel was turned on him as well.

Directly after that fiasco, which required the rousing of First Aid, Hoist, and Perceptor to help repair the damages wrought, came the lock down of the barrack halls. Ratchet's rage had unfortunately reached through several floors of thick metal, successfully scaring the sparks out of many recharging mechs. Many, apparently, had been under the impression that they were either under Decepticon attack or there was a mutiny in progress.

Either way, chaos ensued.

Several mechs had been caught under fire when trying to approach their rooms, mistaken for Decepticons or mutinous Autobots in the confusion of it all. Minor injuries had been reported, but thankfully nothing serious. The fiasco was finally ended when Prowl had been transmitted the sparse details behind the lock down and made the announcement to stand down.

But the fun _still _wasn't over. The universe still had ways of hating Prowl more.

Like having another partial lock down occur in Ironhide's corridor due to "sounds of struggle and weapons' fire" emanating from within the weapons specialist's room. Autobots, still paranoid from the first false alarm, had rallied together and were going to break the door down to "rescue" whoever was trapped inside fighting for their life.

Prowl, capable of putting two and two together, was able to intervene just before the door was blasted down. He saved countless afts from being shot through with plasma cannons and energy rifles. The Autobot ranks would have been decimated had they succeeded in "rescuing" either Ironhide or Chromia.

In light of the matter, it was only wise to call for another stand down in case any other bots had been disturbed by the raucous. The second announcement of the night turned out to be _far_ more interesting than the first. Nearly every mech in the command center had almost deactivated themselves laughing. Prowl, on the other hand, had the distinct desire to simply purge his memory banks of the entire night and then repeatedly bang his head off his desk.

Gracelessly ordering the mechs to mute it, an order that was unsurprisingly ignored, Prowl sighed and- decorum be slagged- he laid his head down on his desk and waited for the end.

It was far too late to try for any sort of order now. Not with the whole base up, buzzing with gossip and rumors- not half of them being remotely true. Few mechs were actually working now, leaving the protection of the base on auto-sensors while they chatted and chuckled.

Brawn even wandered in at the end of the shift, a little dented and somewhat over-energized, causing a stir with his presence. He was pestered into recounting the _entire _fight scene in Nebula One in the greatest detail, right up until the moment he was dragged away. Most of it was obviously embellished- like went the minibot single handedly wrestled and won against an interfering Grimlock- but his fellow entertainment-deprived Autobots enjoyed the tale, no matter how fantastical a turn the story took

And then Prime had walked in with the femme contingent commander Elita One at his side, both looking brighter and better rested than he had in orns. Prime took one scan of the lounging, laughing, and socializing command center, and then had the complete audacity to ask what kind of '_party' _he missed.

Prowl just about had a sparkattack right then and there.

Instead, he ended up giving the quickest, shortest, most abridged report he ever gave in his entire existence on the many events of the night, practically threw command back into Optimus's rightful hands, and then ran from the command center like pit-hounds were on his heels.

And that's how he found himself outside his quarters' doors, overly aware of how much attention he had drawn to himself and not completely caring.

He was off. _Finally. _The nightmare was over. Prowl now found himself with the overwhelming desire for solitude, to be alone with his processes and away from the slacking mechs who'd rather gossip then work. He wished to relax and perhaps contemplate further on the idea of the Allspark and matters pertaining to its search. He would think over what he would say to Jazz to broach the subject properly without causing Jazz's emotional routines to fritz. Maybe, if he got the chance to sort out everything first, he would recharge the rest of the orn.

Unfortunately, any plan he might have made for the orn was purged from his processor the moment his door opened and a pair of claw-like hands shot out, grabbed him, and dragged him into the room. Hauled away from the door, the length of his frame was pressed to the wall directly to the right, followed by a lithe frame meshing to his. The bot hat had him revved deeply, slowly, vibrating his frame against Prowl's with needy passion.

The tactician would have been surprised by this welcoming if this sort of thing didn't happen so often.

Magnetic fields suddenly activated and drew over his armor, the feeling of the pulsing fields drawing out a deep groan, releasing the hard tensions that his shift had bestowed upon him. His frame sagged into the wall, weighed down by his own hydraulics giving out on him and by Jazz's fine frame clinging to him deliciously.

This was not what Prowl was expecting when he got to his quarters, but he certainly was not adverse to the idea. If this was his reward for a hard night's stress and work, than maybe the universe didn't hate him so much.

The saboteur's frame being a lot smaller than his, Jazz had to reach up and drag Prowl's faceplate down to meet his. He pressed their foreheads together so that the glow of their optics dimly illuminated their faces in the dark room. Jazz's sharp featured faceplate was as handsome as ever; candid and freely needy, optics flaring with desire. This was not the Jazz that Prowl was normally greeted with, Jazz who was normally in control and teasing to the point of madness- no, this was a rarely seen Jazz whose needs and fears took over his processes, making him little more than the bot who was curled into Prowl's chassis now.

Prowl lifted a hand to cup the side of Jazz's faceplate. Jazz responded by tilting his head to the touch, vents releasing a whoosh of air as a sigh.

Looking into Prowl's familiar sharp blue optics, he could see concern brimming there. Concern for him. Beneath that, genuine care. It made him more desperate for Prowl's presence. He wanted to feel the concern and the care as if they were palpable. He wanted to feel Prowl. He needed to know that Prowl was still there.

Prowl's voice froze the desperate scrabbling at his interface port to open the panel.

"Jazz, what's wrong?"

"Ah just want ya. S'that so wrong?" he replied, voice low, hands still paused over Prowl's panel.

"You're not acting like yourself, though. Has something happened?"

Yes, yes, something did happen. Prowl double shifted, that's what happened, leaving Jazz, over-energized and alone, in the tactician's room all night. He spent joors thinking, processing things, trying to figure out the right way to speak with Prowl. But deep thinking was not part of his programming- or, it was, but the routines for it had been compressed a long time ago to make room for something more interesting. Thinking things over and over and over only made an anxious little feeling rise in his spark. He didn't like the feeling.

He found himself desperate for connection; touch; insurance that he and Prowl were still together. It was out of character to be so raw, foregoing the picture of coolness that he coveted for something so needy and deep, but the rawness of the need would not be denied.

Jazz's optics burned brightly as they stared up into Prowl's.

"Interface now, talk later."

Prowl processed the request, nodding slowly. "Alright," he relented. Should Jazz be this desperate to interface, he certainly would not deny the mech.

Exhausted as he was, Prowl found the strength to gather Jazz's smaller frame to his chassis and lift him gracefully. Opting for the comfort of the recharge berth rather than the floor, the tactician laid out his partner carefully and then promptly was dragged down to meet said partner as hands delved under armor and magnetic fields pulsated wildly.

Prowl remained complacent, relinquishing control to allow Jazz the freedom he wished to appease whatever fears he harbored.

Interface panel finally pried open, Jazz's own clicking open quickly. The lines were pulled out, Jazz inserting his into Prowl's port then fumbling with Prowl's line until the mech took pity and inserted it himself.

_Interface connection lines established…synchronizing systems… connecting… connecting… connection established._

Interfacing with a bot was an interesting feeling, to say the least.

Both frames shuddered as their two worlds suddenly melted into one.

It was not like that of sparkbonding, in which their very sparks were shared and everything was spilled into other mech, handing over everything they were in exchange for everything their bonded was. Interfacing lacked the depth. _The spark sharing._ That was not to say that it was not as electrifying, nor satisfying, as bonding, because it was.

Oh, _it was. _

Their sensors were aware of the room the room they in, of the berth they were sprawled out on, the din of mechs beyond the door, but suddenly it was as distant as the Allspark was. The only thing that was close now was the overwhelming presence of the other. Optics suddenly saw nothing but the mech that was before them.

Jazz groaned as he was assaulted by the strong, cool, calculating presence of Prowl merging into his own self. The mech had such a presence that it was near overwhelming. Metal scratched against metal as Jazz's claws dragged Prowl closer, needing physical contact as well.

Internals synchronized, revving together in harmony, pumps beating together in a fast paced dance between the two of them.

Prowl pressed the connection, delving into Jazz with ease. There was no resistance to the intrusion. Instead, there was a greedy drag to his presence, like Jazz was trying to steal him out of his own frame and lock him away somewhere safe and secret. Emotions bombarded him that were certainly not his own; desperations, needs, wants, desires, fears, all things that Jazz essentially kept well under wraps in the public's optics. The interface allowed for no such hiding. Something was causing him distress. He pressed further on the connection, projecting gentle calmness and warmth towards the silver mech to sooth him.

Jazz hissed as Prowl expertly maneuvered within the interface. He shuddered and reveled in the closeness he felt. This was exactly what he'd been craving to fight the encroaching loneliness that had been clawing at his spark. Gathering himself, he reciprocated through the link and imposed hot feelings of passion and desire to infiltrate Prowl's being. He knew it worked when the hydraulics in Prowl's arms gave out and he fell heavily on top of Jazz. A hiss emanated from within the storm grey and black frame, writhing from the intensity of the emotions. Jazz shifted aside large panels of Prowl's armor and stroked along sensitive energon lines, touched heated gears, ran gentle fields of magnetic pulses over shuddering hydraulics and servos. Each touch dragged Prowl deeper into Jazz's conscious, the connection opening wider and wider until there was a feedback loop that fed Jazz back every touch that he inflicted on Prowl.

He wanted, needed, desired Prowl closer. He didn't want to be alone. He was afraid of being alone.

_Ah, there it was… _

What Prowl had assumed to be shared neutral thoughts on the matter of leaving was certainly not so.

He reached out, physically and through the interface, and grasped Jazz in a firm hold that shocked him still and ceased his desperate scrambling. Forehead to forehead, their faceplates meshed together so that they were mouth to mouth, chin to chin, intimately entwined like the rest of their frames and consciousness. Everything felt still but alive, electric hot but waiting and calm.

So very slowly, Prowl projected himself fractionally deeper into Jazz, causing the mech to moan a single, long, low note. He searched for the roots of the fear that seized him. There was resistance now, like a trapped creature desperately trying to get away. Soothing waves of comfort placated the struggles. The fear came into his grasp as if he had always held it.

Jazz's spark fluttered quickly in its case as he felt Prowl inside him, moving around, taking hold of something terrifying and slowly dissolving it into a warm embrace that cradled him in strong arms and held him with infinite security. A harsh cry cut from Jazz's vocal processor as he writhed and clawed.

A pair of warm, metallic hands reached up and held Jazz's faceplate still. Sharp optics stared into his as intense emotions boiled through the connection and overwhelmed his processor.

"You are not alone, Jazz." Prowl said. He modulated his voice into a low growl, a tone that reverberated through him and trembled in the air between them. Every feeling that Prowl held for the mech; affection, care, frustration, annoyance, amusement, _love, _instantly all of it was transmitted over in its rawest form for Jazz to be completely overloaded by.

Hot, bright, electric waves erupted through the silver mech's frame as every system overloaded. Through feedback, Prowl was enabled a secondhand experience, but resisted the pleasure. He merely absorbed the expression that crossed Jazz's faceplate as he was overtaken by the moment of perfect rapture. Strangled versions of his name issued from a strained vocal processor. Arms and legs and magnetic fields held as close as possible. That was enough for now. This was Jazz's comfort, it would be wrong to steal it from him.

As soon as Jazz's frame settled and systems fell back into appropriate operational parameters, Prowl carefully disengaged their links and coiled them back into their proper ports.

A long, low sigh escaped the silver mech as he finally gained control over his uncontrollably shake frame. He sprawled out further beneath Prowl, staring past the optics that searched his to the shadowed ceiling above them.

"Not… my best work," he said slowly, after a long silence. "Ya didn't even-."

"You obviously needed it more than I did. I'm fine for now"

"Oh…" Jazz wriggled a little, Prowl's weight limiting his mobility. The larger mech shifted off to the side to allow Jazz room. He sat up, pushing himself against the head of the berth as Prowl moved to sit near the end.

"Ah did come 'ere wit' the intention ta talk, y'know," he said quietly.

"You always do."

A ghost of a smile cracked Jazz's faceplate. "Things jus' got outta hand…"

Prowl nodded with cool understanding. "They usually do when you're involved."

"Aren't you full of funny one liners," Jazz huffed.

The tactician gave him a look; he wasn't trying to be funny.

The saboteur rolled his optics. "Ah sat 'ere all night thinkin' of the right way ta tell ya Ah was goin' ta sign on fer the Allspark mission, Ah wanted ta do it righ'. Ah didn't want ta shove in yer faceplate an' get sent ta the brig…" He sighed. "An' here Ah end up glitchin' over it like some cross wired youngling. _Yer_ the one comfortin' _me _now."

A hand running over the sleek metal of his leg had him peering up at Prowl. The tactician caught his optic with a short, barely there smile and simply dragged him into his lap, locking his arms around the mech so that there was no escape.

"Loneliness is not something you deal with well," Prowl said, running a hand along the ridges of Jazz's silver armor. Before Prowl, Jazz had dealt with loneliness by spending every night with a different mech, always getting into new crowds, blending in with new mechs, always wanting the attention of everyone. Now, there was only the attentions of one mech he sought.

"Whether you or I are accepted into this mission, 'loneliness' is the reality that we must face." In saying that, weariness began to creep in once again. Arms tightened their hold around the lithe mech in his embrace. "But we're not younglings anymore, we are proven warriors capable of prioritizing what is important and what is frivolous. We must focus on what is important for all of us and Cybertron."

"Ah know, Ah know... but does that mean yer callin' _'us'_ frivolous?"

Prowl shook his head. "Not at all. Although, you yourself are frivolous, I value your company greatly. You are irreplaceable to me. The Allspark, on the other hand, is also irreplaceable _and _not here, therefore the Allspark is more important to find."

"Guess yer right…" Claws traced idle patterns on storm grey armor. "Y'know… sometimes Ah hate it when yer right."

"You must hate me often then."

Jazz shrugged. "It's a love/hate sorta thing goin' on."

Prowl offered something that sounded like a soft chuckle.

They fell into companionable silence for a long time, listening to only the whirr and hum of the other's internal systems.

Prowl admired the lithe mech in his lap, from the sleek design of his frame to the burning, passionate spark that pulsed in his spark case. There had never been anyone who made all the walls of calculations Prowl had put up fall into crumbling pieces of nothing like Jazz did. For all the pit that Prowl had to go through during the nightshift, it was like the universe was making up for it by placing Jazz here, tucked in his arms, curled in his lap.

Jazz curled up tighter into the embrace, like he would have curled into the chassis of one of the Caretakers in the Youth Sectors when he was a youngling. Sure, he had regained his composure by now, and normally he would have reverted back to his wisecracking self, but there was something about being held in Prowl's arms that made it okay for him to stay vulnerable a little while longer.

This was the Prowl that nobody else except him knew, the part of him that was warm and kind and just his to have. The part that slagging Sunstreaker would never know or understand. The same way that only Prowl and no one else would ever know that Jazz could be scared of being alone, that he could let go of being flashy and loud to simply curl in the lap of his partner.

"This almost makes it worth the pit I went through working…" Prowl said, finally breaking the silence. Now that everything was over, he really wanted to lay back and recharge.

Unfortunately, the universe wasn't done yet hating him.

Jazz smirked. "Yeah… Ah heard the announcements… They were… _interestin'_." He gave Prowl a wide grin. "The second was my favorite."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"So… you wanna talk about how yer night went?"

"No."

"It'll make ya feel better."

"No."

Jazz pouted, playing with the edges of Prowl's interface panel. "But Ah wanna return the comfort favor."

Prowl shot him a flat look. "No you don't, you just want to interface again. You're fine now, so get out and let me recharge."

The saboteur turned so that he faced Prowl, draping himself across the larger frame. "Aw, that hurts, right here in my spark," he said in the tactician's audio receptors, one claw tapping over the plating that hid his spark. "Ah can feel the tension in ya, Prowl. Yer stressed an' riled an' one orn yer just gonna snap an' pull an Ironhide; let me help you before poor bot gets shot. Honestly, all Ah wanna do is help."

An annoyed rev purred through the room. "Yeah,_ help yourself." _As soon as he said the words, Prowl realized his mistake.

Jazz laughed and shoved the mech down to the recharge berth, straddling him and grinning. "Don't mind if Ah do!"

Prowl growled, trying to shove him off. Frag those slagging magnets of his; he wasn't budging. "I am stressed and I am exhausted, Jazz; this has been a trying night for me. I gave you what you needed, so give me what I need and let me recharge."

Nonchalantly, Jazz flicked open the interface panel once again, grinning down at the trapped mech under him. "Relax, you won't have ta do a thing this time," he assured, twirling his line teasingly. "Think o' this as my own special brand o' comfort."

Prowl made a strangled noise.

Jazz laughed again. "Now, now, this is what partners are for! We help each other out with our problems and stresses" he said, patting Prowl kindly. The magnetic fields on those hands made him twitch and hiss. "I owe you one overload and a whole lot of cuddling, so I'm getting the fun part out of the way first."

"You don't have to!" Prowl howled, attempting to buck the mech off. Legs locked tightly around his frame, not going anywhere.

"But Ah want ta. Ah insist. It's the least Ah could do."

Didn't the glitching mech see that this was causing the poor tactician _more_ stress? Another strange noise issued from Prowl, half whine, half growl.

Jazz leaned in close, completely back to his wisecracking, flashy, good ol' self now. His grin lit up the dark room like a sun full of devious delight.

"There, there, Prowl. Ah'm here, let it out. Be as loud as ya want. It really does help. An' if we're lucky, we might get an announcement just for us."

Prowl banged the back of his head against the flat surface of the recharge berth. _Why, universe, why?_


	7. Of Optimus and Elita II

OMG! Long chapter! AH! Because some people have been requesting more Optimus/Elita, I just _had_ to write another Optimus/Elita chapter! Yay! Hopefully after the next chapter or two, once I have everything established, the story will be advancing a lot quicker. Hopefully this chapter is way better than the last. I worked really hard on it!

Special thanks to: **lady tecuma** (I'm glad I made your nigh!) , **VAwitch** (Thank you so much! I'm glad I was able to write Prowl well!), **Gen **(I will definitely keep your suggestion in mind! I like the idea of writing about the reunion!), **JessyJazz** (Wow, your review really made my day! I thought I completely messed up with Jazz and here you are loving him! You know what, I say you CAN be Prowl if only so you can be with Jazz!), **Stripperella** (your haikus were both breathtaking and awe-inspiring. Thank you more than a million for the wonderful works of poetry included in your review!).

* * *

"Optimus, you're going to have to let me go sometime soon if we are going to see to our duties here," Elita pointed out with a bare amount of amusement in her voice as she prodded her bonded. In return, the arm that held her close to Optimus's side curled around her tighter.

"I quite enjoy having you by my side, though," he replied, offering her a smile that meant way too many things. "There is only so much time I have left to enjoy your company and I wish to use every moment to my advantage."

"So you're going to keep me pinned here, are you?" she asked, laughing lightly.

"If I have to," he replied. He turned his optics down to her, revealing the youngling-like mischief that was dancing in them. It was like staring into the optics of an Optimus that was so many vorns younger than he was, still full of youth and vigor.

"We'll see how long that's going to last," Elita teased, a grin stretching her faceplate. They may be have been out of the way leaning against the railing of the second level in the command center, but eventually they were going to get in someone's way.

"We could always discuss this issue in my office, if you wish," Optimus offered, making it very clear by the expression he wore that the option held more than just the face value offer.

Elita returned his offer with a look of speechless surprise. How many times had she been given that offer when they were younger and they ended up doing a lot more than just 'discussing' things in his office? She had come to expect offers like that from the young, impulsive mech when they had first began seeing each other, but as time wore on, private office trysts had become few and far between.

The sheer impulsiveness of it was almost enough to say 'slag duty, where's your office?'

It helped little that Optimus was raising those nearly forgotten feelings of crazy lustful encounters from distant files in his memory banks and gently feeding her the sensations through their sparkbond to further entice her. Her pumps sped up a little, swept away by the intensity of the sensual feelings suddenly filling her.

As a contented purring rev issued from her, somewhere behind them came a distant chuckle. It was ignored by Optimus, but suddenly Elita suddenly hyper-aware of how public the place they were standing in was and just how many bots were milling about, glancing their way every few breems with vague smiles decorating their faceplates.

She snapped out of her wanton stupor pretty damn quickly.

"_What has gotten into you?" _she hissed, chiding and incredulous and slightly embarrassed.

"I thought it was understood from last night that these last few orns were not to be wasted," he said, bending low to whisper in her audio receptor. He was still transmitting sensations through their bond, making it difficult for Elita to maintain her edge. She desperately resisted the urge to press herself into her sparkmate's formidable frame, squashing whatever need there was to reciprocate the feelings being fed to her through the bond.

"That doesn't mean we have to reformat into petro-rabbits," Elita replied.

Optimus's faceplate broke out into a wide grin that accentuated his handsome features. "From Prowl's report on the nightshift, I'd say that was the general idea of a few mechs."

"Oh, do _not_ bring Ironhide and Chromia into this, you dirty old mech," Elita scolded, rapping her sparkmate firmly on the chassis with her knuckles. "What they do in the privacy of their quarters is their own business!"

"Are you suggesting we go to our own quarters, then?"

Elita whined and banged her head of Optimus's side. "No, I'm saying you should go down to the med bay and sedate yourself before whatever glitch in your programming that's making you act this way forces me to offline you before any more of your dignity, as well as mine, can be thrown out an air lock."

"I wouldn't mind throwing everything I have out an air lock if it meant I could have you right now."

"I'd throw _you_ out an air lock if that meant I could get to work."

Even the threat was not enough for Prime to relinquish his hold on his sparkmate.

Frustrated with his insistence, Elita let him know exactly what she thought of his offers through the bond, sending every ounce of frustration she had to him. He jumped from the sudden harshness of the message. What she received in return was a sudden wave of hurt and disappointment, which instantly made her spark twist painfully in her spark case.

With a sigh, she lifted her small hands to capture Optimus's faceplate in a gentle hold, guiding his optics down to meet hers. He was close enough so that she could press her forehead to his softly.

"Look, let me go for a few breems to tie up some loose ends and I swear I'll come back as soon as I can," she said.

She felt his desire to keep her close burning passionate and hot from his spark, he wanted her close for every astrosecond until he gone; he wanted her almost as much as she wanted him. But, it was her logic center that was dictating that she had responsibilities to see to, even if her emotional subroutines were railing against the idea furiously. Prime may have had the luxury to place his mantle of command on whomever so that he could go off on his merry way, but she lacked the luxury. The Femme Contingent was hers alone to take care of.

"I swear Optimus, as soon as I'm done what I need to do, I'll come right back and then not even the pit itself would be able to tear me away from you. I'll only be a few breems, half a joor at best, and then you'll have me to do whatever you please, alright?" Her optics stared into his pleadingly, begging through their bond for him to understand that she wanted nothing more than to run back to his office with him and sweep his desk top clean but there were more pressing matters at hand for her to see to.

A long sigh issued from the large mech as he relinquished his hold on his sparkmate and let her take a few steps away from him. His side felt uncomfortably cold without her presence there to keep it warm.

"There's nothing I could say that could make you stay just a little while longer, is there?" he asked. He was Prime after all, wasn't it his prerogative to be able to order a mech to substitute for femme commander while Elita was indisposed? He could definitely see Tracks enjoying himself with the promotion…

"Short of anything that begins with "I order you to…" then no, there's nothing you can say," Elita replied. "And before you get the brilliant idea to try and assert your position as Prime, think carefully and ask yourself if you like recharging in your quarters or in the hall."

Optimus sighed as his last hope was shot down it a brilliant ball of flame. Elita offered him a small smile in consolation.

"There was nothing I could have said last night to make you stay, and there's nothing you can say now to make me stay," she said, the smile hosted on her faceplate fading a little to the sad one he had seen last night. "The only difference is that I'm coming back a lot sooner than you will be."

He never got a chance to reply before Elita backed out from under his towering presence and headed for the stairs that would lead her down into the wild hustle and bustle of the main floor of the command center.

* * *

What originally was only supposed to take half a joor to complete was now cutting into the third joor of Elita's departure.

At first, Optimus had taken the opportunity to see to a few tasks of his own that needed to be dealt with, many of which being of recent damages wrought from numerous escapades played out during the night. Scanning through the long list of repairs that Grapple and Hoist would have to deal with, Optimus felt a bare bit thankful for Ratchet ordering him to his quarters for the night.

If someone as logic-centered and coolheaded as Prowl could end up half-crazed and fritzing as he was when he ran out of the command center, then Optimus surely did not want to think of the condition he would be in had he stuck around for the night shift.

Now, though, with the most pressing matters seen to, he was left bored and back in the place that Elita had left him in. Minor tasks he still needed to see to were delegated to subroutines constantly run in the background while he bot watched from his vantage point in peace. Around him, the Iacon base command center exploded with its normal plethora of hyper-excited energy and lively invigoration.

Somewhere in amongst the ranks, Optimus caught a brief glance of Elita One dodging between the legs of mechs twice or three times her size, trying to make her rounds to several late femmes who'd stumbled in. He didn't dare try and hale her as she fought her way towards to the large, raised entrance of the command center. She obviously was on the hunt for miscreant femmes wandering in late for their shift.

Optimus watched her for a moment longer before letting his optics drift back to the rushing waves of mechs running to and fro through the room. In contrast to his more lenient nature towards infractions of a minor nature, Elita preferred to adhere a little more strictly to the rules, enforcing them when necessary. There was no point in trying to hale her when she was in pursuit of her prey.

Looking over the entirety of the command center as it was, Optimus knew that it was not only his sparkmate that he was going to miss once he left. For the time being, he tried to absorb as much of the mad house atmosphere of the room as he could.

A cacophony of clicks and screeches over took the main level as mechs yelled back and forth to each other in jovial greeting, foul-mouthed cursing, and tried to let the others know the latest gossip. As usual, some bots stumbled in from their overindulgence the night before, groaning and cursing, only to be reprimanded by Red Alert as he confronted them, or to be chewed out by Elita if she aught them first.

Skinny silver drones ran about underfoot, flashing under the stark lights of the room as they weaved though legs and feet, either trying to finish their programmed cleaning tasks, or otherwise piled high with data pads and reports to be delivered to a dozen different bots.

On either side of Optimus, bots were hanging off the railing of the upper section of the room, shouting down to those on the main level. It was amusing to watch as they relayed important information as loudly as they could, even though the same information could have easily, and quietly, been transmitted through digital transmissions or inter-cranial comm. links. The enjoyment that came from shouting across a crowded room overrode the efficiency there was in using the simple and sensible mode of information delivery.

The room was loud, crowded, and undoubtedly crazed; it was a place that Optimus was going to miss being a part of. It reminded him that there was still life left in Cybertron, thriving strongly in its people as they went about their jobs enthusiastically.

During the orn, the command center was practically the spark and processor of the Iacon base. The room itself was quite large, circular in design, and fairly open to allow for the dozens of mechs running about with whatever task they had to perform. Grapple and Hoist had had a field orn when designing the place, going to all manner of lengths to create a command center to outstrip every other base on Cybertron.

Credit had to be given; they succeeded.

Walls that were not lined with wide monitors or crowded by hulking consoles were overtaken by sleek silver paneling, many of which would shift aside at a moment's notice to form weapons' lockers, emergency consoles, or medical supply storage units in case of attack. Wide stairs ran up one side of the room to the spacious second level, where the hubbub was just as bustling and fast paced as it was on the main level- except with a better view. Opposite of the wide balcony loomed an immense screen that dominated space from ground level to the second floor, most often used for visual communications between bases.

The crowning glory of the room, a testament to Grapple's genius as an architect, was the communications post held suspended above the entire room in its own little domed platform in the ceiling. A crystalline soundproof guard encased the post, lined with dozens of screens and direct access links to all communication frequencies of all Autobot bases and then some. It was the envy of all communications officers, with Blaster proudly proclaiming dibs on the entire place; it was his own personal paradise that he guarded jealously when he was on-duty.

From where Optimus stood leaning unobtrusively over the second level railing, he could clearly see that vestiges of the night's excitements were still mingling with the day crew as they leaned away from their monitors and consoles to chat animatedly with their neighbor. It was certainly spark lifting to see his mechs in such lively moods when lately there hadn't been much to be cheerful over.

Training his audio receptors on to a few strains of conversation, he caught spirited rumors being passed along and colorful retellings of the night's events. As always, gossip was golden amongst his mechs.

"_Wheeljack's lab exploded last night!"_

"_What? __**Again?!"**_

"_Prime was escorted to his quarters last night by Prowl and Hound!"_

"_No, really?!"_

"_Yeah, I saw it with my own optics!"_

"_Did you hear about what happened in the med bay? Ratchet finally had a melt down! Went on the fritz and completely dismantled the twins!"_

"_Ha! I bet they deserved it!"_

"_You should have heard what Sunny and Sides did in Nebula One!"_

"_Those little glitches!"_

"_Do you even want to hear about what happened with Ironhide and Chromia?"_

"_No! Good sweet Primus, no!"_

"_They say there was so much noise coming from the room-!"_

"_-Don't make me deactivate you!"_

"_Did you walk by Prowl's quarters this morning?"_

"_Yeah!"_

"_Did you hear them?!"_

"_Yeah!!"_

"_They're like petro-rabbits!"_

"_**I know!"**_

"_All you heard was Prowl begging to stop and recharge for a little while!"_

"_Ha! I thought he had more stamina than that!"_

Scrubbing his grinning faceplate tiredly, Optimus chuckled and tuned out of those particular trains of conversation. He was the leader of a legion of gossip mongers. Both an entertaining blessing and a more-than-one-needs-to know curse.

Distantly, he heard the whispers of 'Allspark' being passed around in lowered voices. At least it wasn't gossip.

"_-so what do you think of the whole Allspark thing?"_

"_I think the mission sounds great and all, but Jazz hasn't sent out any information on it yet. He __**always **__takes his sweet time getting things out."_

"_Ultra Magnus sent us the details as soon as he got them. He's good like that, you know? Told us that we were all capable warriors and that he expected to see applications from everyone in his division."_

"_Are you going to do it?"_

"_Why not? It's better than sitting around here staring at monitors orn after orn while everyone else is out there fighting. At least signing up for this will mean we're doing something. Besides, Optimus is leading it, and Ironhide's already signed on, what more could you ask for? We're practically guaranteed to find the Allspark!"_

Optimus smiled vaguely as he listened, heartened by the confidence his soldiers had in his abilities when he himself was so unsure.

So enraptured by eavesdropping, the Autobot leader remained completely oblivious to the company he now had.

"Sir?" Silverbolt waited respectfully to be acknowledged like he usually did. Unfortunately, Prime's attention seemed to be solely on bot watching at the moment, so he was unintentionally ignored.

Straightening nervously, Silverbolt tried again to catch Optimus's attention. "_Sir_?"

Slingshot, who was leaning boredly against the rail not far behind his friend, huffed and crossed his arms. "Give it up, Silverbolt. I don't even think his processor is on Cybertron right now," he mumbled. "It's on planet 'Elita One' or something; who knows what the old bot is thinking."

Silverbolt shot the mech a hard look to silence him. He reached out a hand and tapped the leader on the shoulder. "Optimus, sir?" he pressed, a little more loudly this time.

Optimus started once and then looked over, fixing his deep blue optics on the two mechs standing not far to his left. "My apologies," he said benignly, straightening to his full height. "Is there something the matter?"

Accordingly Silverbolt snapped to attention while Slingshot continued to lounge against the railing.

It seemed that being in the presence of the esteemed Optimus Prime still overloaded poor Silverbolt's circuits, despite his time in service. With the knowledge that he had the undivided attention of Optimus at that very moment, the aerial officer began to stammer something akin to the reason he was there in the first place. "No sir! …I mean, yes sir! …well, actually, sir, what I mean to say is-!"

Slingshot revved in annoyance. "What he means to say, _sir_, is that we need Highflier back before we can start on our aerial patrols," he said flatly.

Optimus raised an optic ridge. "Oh? Is she being detained somewhere?" he asked.

Silverbolt nodded his head in the general direction of beyond the balcony. "Something to that effect, sir," he said with a slight amount of embarrassment. The silver projections that jutted from his back, denoting his aerial capabilities, drooped a little, adding only to the comically sheepish appearance he sported at the moment.

Glancing down towards the floor, Optimus caught sight of Elita towering impressively over two femmes, one recognizable as Firestar, the other a brass colored femme obviously being Highflier. The pair of femmes appeared to be getting thoroughly chewed out by their commander.

_So that's who she was hunting down, _Optimus thought sympathetically as he stared down at the trio of femmes. "How long as she been at them?" he asked, leaning further over the railing to have a better view of the situation below.

"Too long," Slingshot huffed

Silverbolt looked pleadingly to his leader. "We sort of need you to- ah… 'save' them. Elita One's been at them for a while now.

Optimus nodded. "I'll see what I can do, but I'm only Prime here, not Primus. If Elita doesn't want to let them go, you'll have to start your rounds without Highflier. Short of ordering her to stand down, there was only so much he _could_ do if Elita was intent on chewing out her own soldiers. He _really_ didn't want it to come to having ordering her to do anything; he rather liked recharging in his own quarters as opposed to the hall.

From where they stood on the second level, Elita's voice carried easily over the din of command center.

"-it certainly is not becoming of any officer to show up late for any occasion; as Autobots we have standards and regulations to operate by and every bot, mech and femme, is responsible to uphold them." The Femme Commander fixed her subordinates with a firm look.

"_Especially_ femmes," she stressed. "There are so few of us left that we can not afford for a few disregarding femmes to sully the reputation of the femme contingent; I expect far more from my own warriors than what Prime does from his lot. We are far and few between, which means that there are a lot more optics focused on us rather than on the mechs. Optimus may let his mechs slack off in some cases, coming in late and acting without any regard to rank, but I certainly will not permit such foolishness in _my_ ranks-."

Optimus deadpanned as he stared down at his bonded; a less public critique would have been appreciated. He let her know he was listening by a gentle prod to their bond, only to be rewarded with a quick glance upwards and the definite feeling of 'stay out of this if you know what's good for you' coming through their sparkbond. Oh, he knew that feeling well; any mech bonded to a femme would know it.

Beside him, Slingshot snickered openly while Silverbolt looked insulted and ready to protest. Before the zealous Autobot shouted something down in defense of his great leader, Optimus laid a hand on his shoulder and muted him with a shake of his head. In the long run, he would really like to recharge in his own quarters the last few orns he was on Cybertron instead of being locked out in the hall.

"But, Optimus-!"

"She has a right to her opinion," he said quietly. _And I have a right to my room. _"And, unfortunately, there is some basis of truth in the accusation, don't you think?"

He _was_ guilty of letting his mechs get away with far too much. Only his excuse was that there wasn't much choice in the matter.

The majority of his ranks had been civilian before the war, reconfigured for battle when they joined the Autobot cause instead of proclaiming Neutrality. In the beginning, the newly inducted Autobots had fumbled with their newly installed military programming, stumbling through the new subroutines as they tried to adapt their core programming to the new data being imputed that went against everything previously assimilated before.

The transition for some had been notably difficult.

With all the diplomacy and charisma that he was known for, Optimus had relaxed the rigid command structure accordingly to allow a more comfortable transition into military life. It had done wonders for the previously fritzing bots. Optimus also reaped the benefits of his own decision, often finding amusement in the candid nature he was often addressed with. He also saw nothing wrong with a little leeway in the way of tardiness or correct protocol. As long as everything got done correctly and on time, then that was good enough for Prime. It wasn't that he let them _slack off. _He was simply understanding of where his mechs were coming from.

That _did not_ make him a lax leader. Which he would have to point out to Elita as soon as he got a moment alone with her.

Down below, the tirade continued.

"-had this been battle and not just a simple tardy shift, bots could have been deactivated for such a blatant disregard for time! I hope you two understand the importance of what I am trying to impress upon you; don't you dare try to show up late for another shift again, or it may cost you more than just extra shifts down in inventory- don't give me that look, Firestar. I know you were expecting me to be a little more merciful on you because of last night, but Optimus and I worked things out and I am back to being a glitch in your programs today. "

Firestar easily caught on to what "worked things out" meant. Her faceplate broke out into a wide, insinuating grin. Even while getting chewed out by Elita, they were still friends, which meant as soon as they were both off duty Firestar would be prying for details.

Optimus quickly saw his moment to interject.

"Elita, I'm sure they understand the importance of being punctual by now," he called down, his deep voice carrying over the busy din easily. "I have two mechs up here requesting the release of Highflier, and I'm sure Firestar has her own duties to attend to. Can you not let them off with just a warning for now?"

Elita's faceplate jerked up, glaring pointedly at her sparkmate. Through their sparkbond, Optimus certainly felt a few flames of ire lick at him for his little intervention. Just as he thought; he'd be paying for it later.

Nonetheless, Elita turned back to Highflier and Firestar and dismissed them to their appointed tasks without further reprimand. The freed femmes scattered in opposite directions, both shooting Optimus grateful looks as they ran. He waved back to them kindly.

Slingshot leapt over the railing and ran after Highflier, Silverbolt thanking Optimus profusely before he too ran after his aerial teammates.

Next thing Optimus knew, Elita was marching up the wide stairs and coming to stand before with an irritated expression marring her faceplate. She stared him down easily even as he straightened to his full height and returned the stare.

"Yes?" he asked, voice kept as light as possible.

"You're too soft on them," she groused, but a dry smile ruined her reprimand.

Optimus reached out and drew her close, heedless of the audience they had. He was just glad that she was back within arms reach again so that he could shower her with affection.

"Often times I find you are too unrelenting," he replied, smiling. "Most of them used to be civilian, remember? Allowances must be made."

He could practically feel Elita rolling her optics at him for his soft-sparked reasoning.

"I don't have the luxury that you do for allowances," she replied. "You have civilian mechs to deal with, but there are no more civilian femmes, they were all scraped, remember? The only femmes left now are Autobot femmes, trained warriors, and I'm not about to go soft on them now. Just because you let some bots get away with coming and going whenever they want doesn't mean I'm going to them."

"I do not-!"

But, as if to prove his protest wrong, the door of the main level opened up and a blazingly red microbot shot in, making a beeline for the stairs and racing up them. As if he had not just come in the middle of his shift, Blaster grinned at Optimus and Elita, waved, and kept on running for the special lift that would take him up to his comm. post.

Elita stared after the red bot disbelievingly. She turned to give her bonded a pointedly incredulous stare, which was returned with a somewhat guilty but amused expression.

"Not letting them come and go, huh?" she asked, pointing to the tiny bot making his way across the bridge to his station. "Then what was that, a scheduling issue or a glitch in his chronometer?"

Obviously by her tone of voice, he was meant to prove he didn't let his mechs come and go by making an example of poor Blaster. Via digital link, Optimus connected with Blaster, who was already connecting himself to his communications paradise.

"_Blaster, you're late."_

The mircobot's small, eccentric faceplate appeared over the side of the large swiveling chair, many of his numerous antennae already extended from the top of his head. As soon as he caught Optimus's optics, Blaster waved down to the Autobot leader genially. _"I know, I'm sorry! I'll make it up at the end of the shift like I usually do-!"_

Optimus raised his hands. _"Elita One has been after me for letting mechs come in late. She wants me to make an example of you-."_

Blaster's face fell, several antennae drooping.

"_But, as you've said, you're going to make up the lost time at the end of the shift so I really don't see the need for extra reprimand. All I need you to do is look like you've been handed a hard punishment so that Elita will be satisfied and we can get on with our lives. Can you do that for me, Blaster?" _

Blaster nodded, immediately getting into character. His face fell dramatically and he slumped against the soundproof walls in obvious misery. He made pleading motions to Optimus as if he was trying to beg for a second chance and accordingly Optimus shook his head to deny the imaginary plead. Comically, Blaster banged his head against the crystalline soundproof windows, not making the slightest sound beyond his post. Optimus continued to make it look like he was standing firm on his supposed position.

Beside him, Elita looked on with visible satisfaction.

Up in the comms post, Blaster gave one last look of forsaken shame to his leader before spinning around in his chair with a forlorn air of dejection. The imaginary argument was over and he obviously lost. The convincing display was contrasted by the energetic message he transmitted.

"_How was that? Was I any good? Did she believe me?"_

Optimus glanced down toward Elita, careful to maintain a somber expression to make it look like he was upset with the minor 'altercation.' Elita looked up to him and nodded reassuringly to let him know that he did the right thing. Optimus nodded back, fighting desperately to keep a straight faceplate as well as keep her unaware through their bond.

"_Yes, she believed you. Good work."_

"See, was that so hard?" the femme commander asked, laying a comforting hand on Optimus's arm.

"Not as hard as I thought it would be," he replied. The silent laughter was nearly overloading his circuits as he fought to keep it internal. A moment passed where he thought he saw a look of suspicion cross Elita's faceplate, but the look was gone in astroseconds.

To quickly steer himself into a safer topic, Optimus reached out and drew Elita back to his side. She complied with the silent request without resistance, letting her frame be pressed into the hard, broad frame of her sparkmate.

"You took much longer than half a joor," he pointed out.

Elita shrugged. "It turned out that I had a lot more to do than I originally thought, since Blaster was late coming in I had to transmit the mission notice personally to my contingent. Good news is that I'm already getting replies transmitted with requests to be part of the mission."

Optimus nodded.

"Oh yes, Ultra Magnus and Kup are looking for you too," she added. "I caught them in the corridor; they want to talk to you about the _Ark."_

"I see… well, they'll just have to find me in my office, then" he replied.

Elita caught on and gave him a flat look. "You have a one track processor," she said disbelievingly. "Primus only knows how you got to be Prime with a processor like yours."

"Just lucky, I guess,' he said amusedly. Heedless of the bemused audience that paused in their work to watch, Optimus swept his arms around his bonded and lifted her from the ground, cradling her to his chassis.

"Optimus-!"

"You promised I could do as I pleased with you," he reminded lightly.

"That didn't include making a scene!" she yelled, burying her faceplate into his chest in an attempt to hide from the whooping crowd of onlookers. She vaguely heard Firestar howling in the background, shouting praise and innuendos in their direction.

"You may want to get used to it soon, Elita," he laughed, hitching her higher in his arms. "My office is a couple of halls down from here."

* * *

Her vocal processor gave a fizzled screech in reply. She continued to protest blatantly all the way through the halls. Optimus stretched a laughing grin across his faceplate and shut off his audio receptors for the time being.

His office had been beckoning to him for a while now, inviting him into the secluded hall lined with imposing doors, each guarding the entrance to a different commander's office. His door stood purposely at the end of the hall like a polished grey guard to the sanctuary that lay within. From the moment that Elita promised him the chance to do as he pleased with her the moment she was relieved of her other duties, the idea of leading her to his office in this sort of fashion had captured his thoughts and been deviously building ever since.

It had been way too long since they had done anything so impulsive. It was like the large, open office was begging him to sweep the contents of his desk onto the floor and drop Elita there. Since there may be no chance for it in the future, now was the best time to be locking doors and cleaning desks. There was no way Elita was getting out of this one.

By the time they made it to Prime's private office, the femme had yet to lose steam on her demands to be let down. With the calm air of someone about to perform a completely normal, mundane task, Optimus shifted Elita to one arm and easily cleared his large desk in an astrosecond. Discarded data pads scattered across the floor haphazardly.

"-if you don't put me down right now, I'll weld your chassis shut! We'll see how much you want to sparkbond after that!" hissed Elita, sounding a little too much like Chromia for Optimus's liking. Without further damage wrought on his poor audio receptors, Optimus dropped his femme like a crate of spare parts. She was stunned into silence momentarily before emitting an characteristic squeak as she was overtaken by the far larger form of her bonded.

Large hands ran over her frame feverishly, quickly and almost frantic, reminding her of vorns ago when they would be fumbling around desperately to interface with each other before someone walked in on them. She groaned as their bond opened up and Optimus allowed his pent up energies to be spilled over into Elita, causing a delicious clash between her own roused emotions and that of the overpowering need she was being enveloped with.

Optimus was bent nearly double over his own desk to press his frame as close as possible to that of Elita's, feeling as their systems heated and synchronized, vibrating together with the familiar bond of sparkmates. It had been his intention to stretch this encounter out, reveling in the sheer youth and naughtiness that bonding in his office was; he threw his plans out the air locks the moment he got a hold of Elita's frame. The first stroke of her sleek armor and that was it.

He was taken by surprise when he felt hands at his interface port, scrabbling at the panel in the manner that a depleted mech would scrabble at an energon cube. With a quizzical, bemused look, he caught Elita's optics and cocked his head. She laughed, thankful for his pause so that she could pry the panel open and expose the port and line.

"For old time's sake," she replied, drawing out the line and running her fingers over it delicately as if it were an old treasure she had forgotten a long time ago and was remembering how much she cherished it now. "I feel like we should try interfacing at least once before you go."

Optimus involuntarily shuddered as he stared down into Elita's grinning, fiery blue optics. She could have said anything at that moment and he would have gone along it, if only for the hope that she would plug him in already.

The prolonged inspection of the line was like slow torture. Never in his life did he think a panel opening on any bot would have looked half as good as the moment that Elita's interface port opened. She smiled up at him with a coy smile that mirrored the youthful playfulness she used exude during one of their trysts.

"It's been a while since we've done this," she pointed out, twirling the line. Her other hand worked at uncoiling her own line. "You don't think we'll be a little rusty, do you?"

"Pit no," came the grunted reply as Optimus's hand came forward and plucked Elita's line from her fingers, inserting it into his port. A drawn out rev shook Elita's frame beneath him, rocking loudly against the metal top of his desk as they connected. Shortly after, he felt his own line be plugged into Elita's port, the same divine feeling of connecting with her causing his frame to shudder and servos to whine a tad loudly.

Interfacing paled abysmally to sparkbonding, that much was obvious as the limited access and sensation quickly frustrated the increasingly aroused Prime. There was a wholeness and state of being with sparkbonding that couldn't be compared to the immature interfacing.

Elita sensed his irritation and laughed, using the interface to dive into Optimus's self and skirt around his silent demands for more intimate attention, playing with him as his aggravations grew. She would dip in, allow for a stroke against a certain line of code, and then zip back.

Every old trick she ever knew was slowly coming back to her. Optimus, for all his desire to be alone with her, was stuck going along for the ride.

They tussled back and forth through the interface for a while, building up the hot, electrical tension, before Elita would suddenly drag it away to start all over again. The game was enough to drive any mech mad, poor Optimus being no exception as he coiled over Elita in a hyper-tense locked stance, looming over her ferociously. Bright fire blazed in his optics as he bore down on her, his weight pinning her in place to the desk so that all she was left with was a little room to wriggle and writhe. In th moment's hesitation offered by his sudden movement, Optimus pressed into the interface link and barreled his way into Elita in the same fashion he had done so long ago.

The femme beneath him arched beautifully, mashing her armor to his. Without their chassis open and sparks exposed though, their chests connecting lacked the fireworks it normally would have had. Threads of blue energy laced between them as the forerunner o their imminent overloads.

Optimus growled deeply, the noise reverberating through his entire frame. He was either tittering on the edge on an overload or a melt down, though he was unsure exactly which one he was more likely to have as Elita played to her spark's desire with every aspect of their interface.

As his resolve snapped and his hands delved for Elita and his own chest plating to shove it aside and expose their sparks, the obnoxious buzz of the door alert froze their pumps and stalled them into immobility. The buzzer went off again, the note held longer this time.

Without thinking, Optimus reared, utterly forgetting that he was still connected to Elita through their lines. It was a very disturbing sensation to have your line pulled out from another so unexpectedly, causing bright flashes to go off before their optics and their equilibrium wavered. Optimus fell back into his chair while Elita sat up and then promptly fell forward onto his lap.

The door finally opened, admitting a one slightly curious looking Ultra Magnus. For a few moments, he stood silhouetted in the doorway, catching Optimus's optics and then glancing around the room in search of some unknown thing. When his strange search appeared to yield nothing, he stepped further into the room but did not sit down. He kept staring at his old friend with an odd expression.

Optimus suddenly realized that from Ultra Magnus's point of view, Elita was completely hidden underneath the desk. Gently dragging his chair forward, forcing his bonded further beneath the desk, Optimus straightened and tried to make it look like he was not as riled and on edge as he really was. It took nearly everything he had to stop the trembling in his body.

Ultra Magnus's optics drew away from Optimus momentarily, only to fall on his open interface panel. He raised an optic ridge in question. If Prime was alone in his office, why would his interface port be open?

Caching the question before it was even asked, Optimus quickly began stringing words together. "I was just cleaning out the dust!" he explained, vocals moving faster than his processor could compute. Exactly why he saw it so important to hide what he had actually been doing was a mystery to him. "You know how Ratchet gets about proper maintenance, and with being bonded to Elita the old interface just doesn't get the same use it used to."

Elita mouthed the word 'dust' in amazement and shook with barely contained laughter. If that was not the worst story she had ever heard, she didn't know what was. If the city commander even dared fall for the half-cocked story, she would through herself out an air lock.

Ultra Magnus stared for a moment and then nodded slowly. "Of course…" he replied. He resisted the urge to ask if throwing all the data pads across the room was part of proper maintenance as well.

Fans cycling desperately to cool down his riled systems, Optimus tried to partially compose himself. "So, you and Kup have been looking for me?" he asked after an awkward silence.

The city commander picked up on the cue quickly. "Oh- yes, we have!" he exclaimed, setting the data pad that had previously been clutched in his hands on the desk. "The _Ark _is done with its inspections and upgrading at Epsilon base, Optimus, and I was wondering if I could take a small squad to accompany me to the base so that I could assist with the _Ark's _transport to here tomorrow. Kup, of course, will be accompanying me."

"Sounds excellent," Optimus replied. "Take whomever you need, as long as you check with their commander first- although, it would be best to avoid using anyone from the femme contingent since Elita is indisposed at the moment."

_Are you on the fritz?!_ Elita thought, hitting her sparkmate on the shin armor.

Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics at the unusual bang. To compensate, Optimus partially kicked out his legs, nicking Elita.

"Don't worry about that, it's just a couple of electrical misfires," he covered quickly. "It happens every once in a while, you know how it is with these older frames."

Ultra Magnus shrugged, trying to understand his old friend's strange behavior. "An upgrade would be nice," he admitted slowly.

In a rush to get rid of the mech, Optimus asked, "Was there anything else you needed, old friend?" Elita dug her fingers into his wiring, taking the question as an invitation for the other mech to stay. Optimus went rigid and hissed.

"Are you sure you're alright, Optimus?" Ultra Magnus asked worriedly.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," he replied tersely. "A little on edge at the moment, but nothing I can't handle."

"Right… Well, if it wouldn't be that much of a bother, I was wondering when the meeting to discuss the Allspark mission would be. Most of my crew has submitted requests, as well as a number of other mechs. Blaster has already transmitted the information to the other bases and the responses are pouring in."

"Two days from now! Right after you get back from Epsilon!" Optimus crowed as Elita twisted her fingers into sensitive circuits in his upper thighs. She was howling with silent laughter as she enjoyed her revenge for Optimus causing such a Primus-damned scene.

"O-okay," Ultra Magnus nodded. He nervously reached across the desk to grasp Optimus's hand before he left. Thinking he was safe to rise and return the gesture, Optimus managed to push himself up partway, hand outstretched, before a pair of sneaky hands reached up and yanked him back down into his seat with a crash.

A pained curse escaped the Autobot leader as he sprawled in his chair, Ultra Magnus already out the door and away from the madness before anything else odd happened.

* * *

Once safely out of audio range, the city commander let loose a volley of booming laughter. The grizzled old mech leaning against the wall opposite of him grinned.

"_So?"_ Kup pressed.

Ultra Magnus supported himself against the wall. "You were right," he replied, still shaking with laughter. "He was in his office, just as you said he would be."

Kup's optic ridges shot up. "Told ya," he said, eying the city commander. "Ya owe me a drink now."

Ultra Magnus nodded, not about to go back on their bet, but he continued to laugh.

"What in the sweet name of Primus has gotten into ya, Magnus?" Kup asked, watching the commander inch along the hall supported against the wall as his laughter calmed slowly.

"Optimus wasn't alone," he replied.

Kup made a face. "Ya turbo-revving young punk, ya caught 'em in the act, didn't ya?" he asked, knowing that the only other bot who would be in the room with Optimus would most likely be Elita.

"No," Ultra Magnus sighed, gathering himself. "No… worse… stranger, at least…" His faceplate shone with strange bemusement. "She was under the desk…"

Kup shot the commander a strange look. "An' how'd you know a thing like that?" he asked suspiciously.

A fresh bout of laughter bubbled from him, taking a while to calm down. He fixed Kup with a look that clearly said he was restraining all further urges to laugh.

"Because- because there was no front on the desk!"


	8. Of Ratchet and Wheeljack

Okay, I want to say that I am really sorry for this entirely too long wait for an update but I have been bogged down by horrible work and school overloads that I have not had the time to work, not to mentions that this chapter had to be re-written so many times that I made my head hurt.

It's not the best work- there's no crazy robot plug'n'play nor sparkbonding. The chapter is pretty subdued and mainly deals with the past. I'd say it is too long and really boring, but please bear with me, NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE BETTER!

As always, thank you so much to **Pheonix13**, **lady tecuma**, **JessyJazz**, **Stripperella**, **Dragon**, **litahatchee**, **theshadowcat**, **OptimusxElita4ever**, and **Bluebird Soaring**. Your reviews are what make this story worth writing. You are all too wonderful to this poor writer!

**This chapter is dedicated to Matt Miller, my boyfriend, who died early Saturday morning in a car crash. R.I.P Matt, I will always love you!**

* * *

Wheeljack sat quietly on the edge of the recharge berth as he watched Ratchet lay before him without the slightest amount of movement. There was a peacefulness about the medic's faceplate that was not there when he was online. Sure, there was still a certain downturn of his mouth that stayed permanently, and weariness had sunk deep into the ridges of his faceplate and paint, giving Ratchet a constant look of worn out exhaustion, but Wheeljack could still see the remnants of the young mech Ratchet used to be.

He reached out with a dull grey hand, his white paintjob remaining only in smudged patches, and ran it along Ratchet's faceplate gently.

"Ratch'…"

The poor medic hadn't even made it to his own quarters before his energon reserves gave out and he collapsed right in the middle of the hall. Thankfully, they were only a few corridors down from his room so Wheeljack thought nothing of hefting his friend into his arms and carrying him the rest of the way. He'd even taken the extra time to arrange the mech comfortably on the berth, and then taken up a sitting position next to him to watch over him much like he had been doing in the infirmary whilst Ratchet tried to get in some recharge.

How long ago had that been? …His internal chronometer told him that he'd been watching over the inert Ratchet for more than three joors. A disbelieving snort came from his vents, rechecking his chronometer and doing a rapid scan of it to see if it was running on proper time. It was.

_Where_ had all the time gone? It seemed like only an astrosecond ago that he'd sat down to admire his recharging friend.

Optics shuttered tiredly, alerts popping up to inform him that he had been online for more than two and a half orns, in part to an invention he was itching to finish, and that it was advisable to engage his recharge subroutines before his energy reserves were any more depleted.

Of course, these warnings were ignored.

Ratchet was far more important than recharging; Primus could only count the number of times the medic had stayed online for orns at a time to watch over the engineer after something blew up and knocked him out. This was the least he could do for his friend.

He leaned forward to press his forehead to Ratchet's, tiredly staring into the medic's shuttered optics.

"Yer a glitching slagger, y'know that?" he muttered without any real spark behind the words. "What in the pit were you thinking trying ta go for four orns without recharge? Ya got a deactivation wish or something?"

There was no answer of course, not that Wheeljack remotely expected one.

A wearied sigh slipped through his vents. "Never mind, ya probably do. Bee said you were signing up for the Allspark search- that's crazy enough fer a deactivation wish, I guess."

Ratchet's cycling fans caught for a moment, causing a snorting sound.

Wheeljack laughed lightly, pulling back enough to look down on his old friend fondly. "I told you to get those fans maintenanced," he chided quietly. "Yer always the medic to every other bot except yerself- now listen ta ya, sounding like ya got slag all up in yer fans. Serves ya right fer thinking yer some kind of super mech!"

As he chided the oblivious Ratchet, a few flecks of his remaining paintjob flaked off, only to flutter briefly in the space between the two mechs before landing gracefully across Ratchet's dusky yellow armor, speckling him white. Wheeljack stared at the paint for a few moments before reaching out to gently brush the flecks away, using more care than he ever did with any project to sweep away the chips without disturbing the recharging mech.

It took a few breems of pressing silence before Wheeljack chose to speak again.

"…been worrying myself into a meltdown over ya, y'know?" he said quietly. "Can barely concentrate on my work when I got ya in the back of my processor- always wondering if yer alright or if yer even bothering to recharge anymore. Do ya have any idea how many circuits I've fried worrying over whether or not you offlined in the middle of the med bay and were just laying there on the floor with no one being the wiser?"

No, of course Ratchet didn't have any idea, he was offline at the moment. But even if he was on line, his processor wouldn't even be able to fathom the amount of times Wheeljack had brought up one scenario after another concerning him.

"Primus, listen to me," the mech sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sounding more 'n more like you every orn. It used to always be you on my aft about proper maintenance- you were always terrified to leave me alone in my lab 'cause ya thought I would get so wrapped up in something that I'd make a stupid mistake and blow myself up. You _still_ worried over me even after you gave me a chip full of basic repair programs that you downloaded from your own files the day you became a fully functional medic. Now look at us- I'm the one fussing over you." He chuckled quietly. "There's irony in that somewhere."

Had Ratchet been online, there might have been a laugh, or else Wheeljack would have gotten a swat, but instead there was deafening silence.

A one-sided conversation was a lot less stimulating than it was with a second party.

Wheeljack groaned, not even having the energy to sustain his own commentary. He leaned forward again, but laid his frame across Ratchet's instead of lying forehead to forehead.

He couldn't help be a little jealous of the medic getting to recharge the orn away while he sat up watching over him. Not that he minded looking out for his friend; it was just that it was too tempting to pull the rest of his frame up on the berth and offline right then and there next to Ratchet.

Unfortunately, there was still work to be done.

With the major strain Ratchet had put on his systems by stretching his power reserves for four orns, not to mention the attack on the twins, he undoubtedly inflicted some damages to his own circuits.

Judging by the flames that had spit from his vents, some damages had_ definitely _been done.

Since no obvious structural damage had been inflicted, other than a slight blistering of the paint around his vents, there was nothing to do for Ratchet's frame. That was not to say that there hadn't been file corruption, or at least a major overload in a circuit board.

For his own peace of mind, Wheeljack decided that it was best to do a full system scan and inventory for his friend to make sure nothing was terribly wrong with him.

His hand drifted down to Ratchet's interface port and flipped the panel open. A small smile graced his faceplate at the familiarity of the act. Without hesitation, he opened his own interface panel and drew the line, inserting it into the appropriate port, also doing so with Ratchet's line.

"Don't mind me, Ratch', I'm just popping in fer a peek," he piped in lightly.

They had done this only a few times in the past. Usually it was after a celebration of some sort, when both of them had over-indulged in high-grade and suddenly remembered how fond of the other mech they really were. Since indulgences like those were never seen as promiscuous, neither mech was ashamed of it the next orn, but it did put oddly flamboyant smiles on their faceplates for a while.

Their previous indulgences also allowed for Wheeljack to have a more intimate knowledge of Ratchet's inner workings, enabling him to manoeuvre around easier and see if there was a problem with the files a lot faster.

_Synchronizing systems… Connecting… Connecting… connection established. _

Though interfacing was often used as a pleasurable exploration between two bots, it _did _serve as a practical purpose, enabling large amounts of information to be conveyed directly to another _and _to quickly check operational systems without being encumbered by scans and results.

With a sigh, Wheeljack fell into the familiar territory of his friend's mind. With Ratchet in recharge, there was no feed back or extra-sensory loop. It was quiet and mostly calm, aside from the continuous white noise of background programs running their course. Even though this interfacing escapade was for purely "non-pleasurable" purposes, that did not stop the engineer's spark from fluttering and his systems from heating in the presence of Ratchet being so _very_ close.

Before he was distracted and did something stupid to his vulnerable, recharging friend, he began his work immediately, accessing an old, well used "field medic" file he mostly employed for quick patch-ups and used the interface connection to bring up the most easily accessible files first to start feeding them through the file.

Everything appeared to be in order in Ratchet's primary programs.

The work was mindless, so the engineer allowed his processor to wander.

* * *

_The young apprentice-engineer started momentarily when he heard the door to the lab slide open with a pneumatic hiss, but settled back to his work as soon as his initial identification scans informed him it was only Ratchet. _

"_Hey Ratch'!" Wheeljack called without bothering to look up from his project. "Patchwork let you off early?"_

_Ratchet shifted in the doorway carefully, watching his friend with nervous optics. "Something like that," he replied. _

"_That's great! I think the old mech has finally warmed up to ya, y'know!" Wheeljack kept up the pleasantries as he usually did, oblivious to the anxiety that his friend was feeling. "It's about fragging time too. You've only been apprenticing with him for- what? Seven vorns? Most medical apprentices would have graduated to fully functioning medics by now!"_

_Ratchet flinched, a sigh coming out through his vents. "He only wants to make sure I'm prepared for the function," he replied, restraining himself from pointing out that Wheeljack was also going on his seventh vorn of apprenticeship with Wrenchwire now, even though the average time was usually only four vorns. _

"_Nah, it just shows how much of a glitch he is, that's all. Doesn't know a good medic when he's got one!"_

"_Yeah…" A hand consciously moved up to his right shoulder panelling where the insignia signifying his newly instated full medical function had recently been added. It was the reason he was here in the first place._

"_Well, come on, don't just standing there rusting! Get in here!" Wheeljack called, his free hand waving his friend into the lab. "I'm almost done with this, then we can talk."_

"_Sure," Ratchet replied, grimacing. The apprentice-engineer was not making his task any easier by speeding things up like this. He had been planning to stretch out the news for as long as possible._

_Picking his way carefully through the cluttered, haphazard lab, Ratchet made sure not to come in contact with anything. The general rule around Wheeljack's lab was "touch nothing, live longer." From far too many experiences in the past with a few too many of Wheeljack more volatile inventions, Ratchet was all the more wary to go anywhere near any of the innocent looking objects. _

_As the mech approached Wheeljack's workbench at the back of the room, he peered around the furiously working bot to see the project he was working on. A small, sad smile crossed his faceplates; he was working on one of __**those **__drones again. It was the project Wrenchwire assigned him a while ago to gain his full engineer's credit; construct and program a drone from scratch, including three different alt modes, fully functional articulation capabilities, optional weaponry or maintenance capabilities, and something unique to Wheeljack to surprise Wrenchwire with. _

_There was no doubting the fact that Wheeljack was a genius with his work. Even as a youngling in the Youth Sectors, he had constantly been amazing the caretakers with what he had constructed from spare parts and borrowed tools. A project such as building a drone, while being tedious in itself, should have been youngling's play to him._

_Well, it __**would **__have been if he didn't have an uncanny ability to make his inventions blow up at the most inopportune moments._

_The drone he was working on now was attempt number eight. _

_As Ratchet watched the engineer-in-training work, steady hands flew from one tool to the next, adjusting and then soldering, tweaking and fixing. A spare part was chosen unerringly from a pile of identical parts without even looking up. Parts were fitted in, circuitry threaded through, programming being installed as the drone was being built. His movements were so sure of themselves, knowing exactly what went where and which tool would be best for what job. No movement faltered. There was no hesitation. He was perfectly content and confident. _

_But even as he worked, Ratchet caught the telltale signs of charred paint and blistered metal on his friend's fast moving hands- something had already exploded today._

_Optics dropped to the sparkless drone on the worktable; so __**that**__ was attempt number nine. The small, charred silver pile of scrap in the corner must have been eight then. _

_Ratchet's spark dropped just a little bit more in his spark casing, regretting even coming to the labs today. Wheeljack was trying so hard to create something great to show Wrenchwire and here he was about to rub his recent upgrade to fully functional medic in his best friend's faceplate. _

_He took his optics off of the small drone, deciding to try to delay the inevitable._

"_So… think you're going to pass with that one?" Ratchet asked, a little awkwardly in his own opinion. _

_So engrossed in his work as he was, Wheeljack failed to notice any awkwardness._

"_Fragging right I'm gonna pass with this damn drone!" he replied, every ounce of confidence poured into every word as if eight previous drones had not blown up in his faceplate. "Wrenchwire's gonna love it! I've put a whole bunch of redundant systems and energy compensation capacitors in so that if even a couple circuits blow, the drone itself won't go up in smoke! There's no way it's gonna explode on me now!"_

_Ratchet smiled briefly, taking the time to admire Wheeljack's constant optimism in the face of so many failed inventions. That was one thing he would always love about his close friend. _

"_How long have you been working on that one?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation going._

"_A while I guess. I started building it when we first got out of the Youth Sectors, but when Wrenchwire signed me on ta be his apprentice I never really had time ta finish. When poor Antimony over there-," his head jerked in the direction of the charred silver pile, "-had a full system shut down after its secondary transformation compromised its core processor, I figured now was as good a time as any ta bring out old Tungsten here."_

"…_You've been __**naming **__them?" Ratchet asked, optic ridge raised in questioning humour. _

"_Well, yeah. It gets too lonely 'round here not ta name them. There's Tungsten here, and Antimony. The others were Cobalt, Titanium, Bismuth, Aluminium, Bromine, Arsenic and Xenon." He paused for a moment, head cocked to the side as he considered something. "If I do have ta build another one, I was thinking of naming it Iron after a mech that's always coming in here getting Wrenchwire to build new weapons for him." _

_Ratchet rolled his optics. "How about finish the drone you're working on before making plans for the next one." _

"_Yeah, yeah, I hear ya…"_

_Ratchet smiled. He knew which mech Wheeljack was referring to; the burly black mech had been in Patchwork's clinic a number of times for maintenance on his numerous weapon configurations. He was an older model mech, gruff and a little obsessed with his armaments, but had a good spark. _

_Ratchet more recently had been doing the maintenance on the mech's armaments in place of Patchwork, developing a tentative friendship with the gruff mech, Ironhide. _

_A sharp yelp emanated from Wheeljack as a bright flash erupted from "Tungsten", further burning the engineer's singed fingers. He jumped away and flailed his smoking digits in the air as he rapidly worked to shut down surface pain receptors so the stinging would stop. _

_Yet another fine example of why Wheeljack was having a hard time graduating from apprenticeship status; he utterly refused to follow proper protocol and turn of his main surface sensation receptors as a precaution in case something overloaded. He claimed that he got a better "feel" of the machine when he was able to feel around inside it properly instead of relying solely on visuals, schematics, and pressure senor nets. All he really got though was a better shock when he was eventually electrocuted by whatever he was working on._

_Forgetting himself completely and the new decal he was sporting, Ratchet immediately went into medic mode. He snatched the flailing mech by the ridge of his arm-plating and pressed him into the nearest bench, pulling the burnt appendages up to his optics and scanning them. He didn't bother with internal scans since his sensors showed that the electrical outburst was only moderate, unlikely to affect anything beyond the epidermal armor. _

_Wheeljack calmed enough to sit still and allow his friend to do his thing. It wouldn't be the first time that Ratchet had to perform on the spot treatment for the poor accident-prone engineer- by now it was nearly routine. He knew enough not to move, lest he wished a whack to the head._

"_It seems Tungsten is not you're lucky drone after all," Ratchet commented as he inspected the singed digits._

"_Just did something it didn' like, is all. I'll know better fer next time." Wheeljack shrugged, optics trained on his hand as he watched his friend work. He trusted every calm movement Ratchet made, knowing that he would always be well taken care of as long as Ratchet was around. "How's it looking, Ratch'?"_

_Ratchet frowned as he picked up multiple layers of scared metal, blistered temp-plating, and paint, all piled on top of each other. Results from his scans showed that that the paint had already seeped past the blistered old temp-plating and compromised the wiring beneath. _

"_Like you've been trying to fix yourself again and failed miserably," Ratchet replied dryly. _

_Wheeljack's fins flashed and then dimmed with embarrassment. "Aw, slag."_

"_How old is this temp-plating?" Ratchet asked, a particularly nasty edge decorating his voice. It was that particular tone that Wheeljack knew he had picked up from Patchwork, who was known for his notably bad temper._

_It was best not to lie in situations like these. "Real old," the mech admitted, fins flickering briefly._

_Ratchet's faceplate twitched as he processed the information. "What in the pit possessed you to leave the fragging things on this long?"_

"_Might of forgot about them…" muttered the increasingly shamed engineer as he shrunk down on the bench._

_A spasm crossed the medic's faceplate. "You forgot?! How do you forget about something like an ugly sheet of metal soldered to your hands?!" He practically had a sparkattack right in front of Wheeljack. "__**WHY **__didn't you call me to treat you for this in the first place?!"_

"_I didn't want to bother you with something as simple as a burn, so I applied the temp-plating myself…"_

"_How many times do I have to tell you not to do that!?"_

_The impassioned way Ratchet's optics darted up to meet Wheeljack's caused the engineer's spark to skip a pulse. _

"_I became a medic so that you wouldn't have to do stupid things like this! You were always hurting yourself in the Youth Sectors! And being the stupid-aft youngling that you were, you ALWAYS tried to fix yourself and managed to hurt yourself more! __**ENGINEERS **__aren't __**MEDICS**__ for a __**REASON**_

"_I know that-!" Wheeljack tried to cut in, but it was too late. Ratchet's concern had already evolved into a temper tantrum. _

"_NO! Obviously you do not know that! You do not __**leave **__temp-plating on! You do not __**layer**__ temp-plating! And you most certainly __**DO NOT PAINT**__ over the temp-plating! Now it's in your wiring and it's all going to have to be replaced! Have you any idea how serious this could have gotten if I didn't catch it now? Your whole hand would have had to be replaced! Or even your arm! And what if the paint had corroded an energon line, huh? What if the paint had actually gotten into your lines? Primus, Wheeljack, this is one of the most stupid things you've ever done!"_

_This was one of the reasons Ratchet was afraid to leave his friend for long periods of time; it didn't matter how hurt he got in a self-inflicted accident, Wheeljack would always try to fix himself with his engineering talents before coming to a real medic for help. It would end up some orn that his own patch jobs would deactivate him before one of his inventions did. _

"_I… I'm sorry, Ratch'. I am, I swear." The mech said quietly, his optics kept on the floor. "I wasn't thinking… I didn't know…"_

"_Of course you didn't!" Ratchet barked harshly, causing Wheeljack to flinch back. "If you had known, then you wouldn't have done something as ridiculously stupid as this!"_

"_Then I'm lucky ta have a friend like you," he said, even quieter than before. "Yer always there to fix me after I do something stupid."_

_Ratchet's pumps nearly halted at Wheeljack's words; he did know yet that those times of always being able to count on Ratchet fixing him were coming to an end._

_Impervious to Ratchet's internal dilemma, Wheeljack continued on. "Ya gonna take me ta Patchwork's ta get chewed out by him now, or are ya gonna shout at me some more here before we go?"_

_Ratchet opened his mouth to say something and then reconsidered, silencing himself. He kneeled before his friend for a while before coming to a decision and speaking. _

"_There's no need to go to Patchwork's," he said. Suddenly he was a lot calmer than he had been astroseconds before- the rapid change in tone scared Wheeljack a little._

"_C'mon Ratch' I know yer a great medic an' all fer an apprentice, but don't ya need all the wiring and parts ta replace the ones I fragged up?" _

_Ratchet straightened up, allowing for his new decal to be exposed, letting every bot who saw it know that his function was as a medic. A fully instated medic. _

_He was no longer an apprentice._

"_We don't need to go to Patchwork's for the parts because… because I'm already configured with the proper redundancy systems to lend you my parts." _

_It took Wheeljack a few moments to process exactly what the decal and Ratchet's statement meant. The moment everything did click, his fins brightened considerably, faceplate shifting from confusion to shock, optics wide as he stared up at his friend. _

_Ratchet dropped his gaze, all his righteous anger gone, and in its place was the sudden nervousness he felt when first entering Wrenchwire and Wheeljack's lab. _

_Sufficed to say, he was pleasantly surprised when a pair of arms wrapped around him and Wheeljack's faceplate filled his vision as their foreheads were pressed together. _

"_Congratulations!" he beamed happily. "It's about time!"_

"_W-what?" This was not the response he'd been expecting. Where was the anger? Where was the shouting?_

_Wheeljack stepped away to inspect the newly painted decal, now noticing the very new, polished paintjob Ratchet had acquired, in a fine dusky yellow. It looked good on him. So did the decal. He did a few new scans over his friend and was able to pick out the recently installed redundant systems in the other mech's frame, a format common to most medics in case they needed to cannibalize themselves for parts. _

"_I'm so happy for you! You've been wanting this for a while now, haven't you? Primus, I can't believe you kept this a secret from me! I would have wanted to be there!" Wheeljack continued on with the brightest expression on his faceplate Ratchet had ever seen, second to the orn he found out he was going to be Wrenchwire's apprentice._

"_You're not upset?"_

"_Frag no! Why would I be upset?"_

"_We've both been working so hard to be fully certified, and I passed before you-."_

"_And you thought I would be as petty as to be upset? Y'know, that almost hurts! We've been friends since we were sparklings, Ratch'! How can I be anything but happy for you?" He wanted to clap the mech on the back for his foolishness, but didn't dare because of his singed fingers. Instead, he laughed. "Only thing I'm mad about is you not telling me the good news sooner!"_

"_I would have told you, but I didn't know if I would pass," Ratchet replied honestly. "I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up; Patchwork's not like Wrenchwire, if I failed the first time I wouldn't get a second chance like you do. I'd have to go through apprenticeship all over again with someone else." _

"_Yeah, but you would never need a second chance! Yer too good! I always knew you'd pass on yer first try, no doubt about it!" Wheeljack fell back on the seat he had been pushed into before, holding out his hands expectantly to Ratchet. "And as yer best friend, I'd be honoured to be yer first patient!" he exclaimed. _

"_Alright, the honour is yours," he said softly, pulling over a seat of his own and beginning his work. In his chest, his spark was doing back flips in happiness. He had been so terrified that Wheeljack would be upset or angry that Ratchet had already graduated and he was still stuck as an apprentice. _

_Obviously his fears had been unfounded. _

_As the layers of paint and temp-plating were stripped away from his hands and the wiring carefully removed, Wheeljack watched in rapt fascination. He kept his optics glued on the sight of Ratchet working so diligently with all the expertise of a trained medic. A REAL medic. _

_The panels on his legs were opened and extra wiring was disengaged, quickly being threaded into the right receptors in Wheeljack's hands. With his pain receptors in the area shut down, all that was left was his pressure sensor net which gave him the vague idea of what was happening, as well as watching the action with his own optics. It was all very methodical, done with practiced ease even though- to Wheeljack's knowledge- Ratchet had never done this before._

"_So… what are you going to do now?" Wheeljack ventured curiously. _

_Ratchet paused, glancing up quizzically. "I am going to feed this wiring into your main neutral circuitry board and-."_

"_No. Not that. I mean, what'cha gonna do now that yer a real medic?"_

_Yet another subject he was wary to bring up with Wheeljack. Ratchet went back to his work, taking his time in thinking over his answer before speaking._

"…_I've been called down to Centaurie Tetrax's Youth Sector to assist as a medic there. Their expansion has called for the need of new medics and caretakers to look after all the sparklings and younglings. It is a very good opportunity for me, Patchwork has already transmitted all my credentials, they are just waiting for my reply. " _

_Wheeljack froze. "But… that's on the other side of the planet."_

"_I know."_

_A spasm crossed through Wheeljack's frame. "That… That's a really good opportunity," he said hollowly. His fins had gone completely dark._

"_Yeah…"_

_Wheeljack grasped desperately for something to say; this was Ratchet's moment, he finally had gotten what he wanted and there was no way that the engineer was going to ruin the day by being selfish glitch, acting disappointed that Ratchet was leaving without him. He forced his fins to brighten cheerfully, grinding gears as his faceplate perked up into an entirely unconvincing smile. _

"_Centauris Tetrax is an amazing city, and I've heard that Sentinel Prime himself often goes there to see the younglings… If you go, maybe you'll get ta meet him. Wouldn't that be amazing? Meeting Prime?" The way he looked up into Ratchet's optics was almost desperate. "When do you have to reply by to get the position?" _

"…_By the end of the orn- and then I would have to leave by tomorrow." _

_The thin veil of happiness Wheeljack had been grasping at shredded instantly. "I- oh… that's great, you can get started right away at your job-!" he tried to say more but static from his vocal processor mostly overpowered his words. _

_Ratchet flinched guiltily. "I don't have to take the job. I can stay here, I'll find work- maybe set up my own clinic-."_

"_NO! You'll probably never have another chance like this! You don't have to stay here for my sake. I- I want you to go!"_

" '_Jack…" _

_Armorless hands, naked and stingingly exposed, took up Ratchet's hands carefully, Wheeljack's desperate faceplate overpowering his vision. "I mean it, Ratchet! You're never going to have another opportunity like this- don't let me hold you back! You're one of the best there is and if you ruin this chance because of me I'll never forgive myself- or you."_

_Ratchet shook his head slowly. "I became a medic __**for**__ you-."_

"_Then go to Centaurie Tetrax for me!" _

_Why was he telling Ratchet to go? He wanted him to stay! It was like his vocals were malfunctioning, saying the exact opposite of what he wanted. "You said once that you thought working with younglings would be fun- go do it. This is what you wanted and I want you to be happy. Go on and be the best fragging medic they've ever had!"_

_Ratchet sat back on his heels, staring up at his friend with a hard expression. A nervous smile perked his mouth. "All right… for you, I will. I'll be the best medic Centaurie Tetrax has ever seen."_

"_Good… good, and while you're at it, ask if they need an engineer down there," Wheeljack said. His faceplate brightened fractionally. "If there's any youngling there like me, they're going to need someone to be able to rebuild youngling parts in case someone gets blown up. I'd be perfect for it! I've got experience in blowing myself up and even rebuilding parts- and then you'll be there to reattach them. Wouldn't that be great?"_

"_You're not a full engineer yet."_

"_I will be soon, with Tungsten!" _

_Ratchet let a sigh escape his vents and he gave up on trying to re-wire Wheeljack's hands for the moment. "Yes, of course, with Tungsten…" _

"_And if not with Tungsten, then with Iron! If you go, Ratch' there'll be no holding me back from following!"_

_In that split second, staring up into Wheeljack's faceplate as the mech stared back with a bright, hopeful expression, Ratchet made his decision. He was going to go, but not without giving his friend a gift to keep him safe._

"_Alright, I'm going- but not before I give you something."_

_His hands travelled to a small compartment on his arm where he extracted a tiny chip from a circuit board and held it out to his friend. With hands that were stripped down to their barest circuits, the engineer took the chip and stared at it awkwardly._

"_What's this for?"_

"_For you… to take care of yourself when I'm gone. I downloaded every basic medical subroutine I have into that chip so that you would be able to patch up the small things yourself and I wouldn't have to worry about something as ridiculously stupid as you layering temp-plating. If you're going to come down to Centaurie Tetrax, then I want you to come down in one piece- fully operational. Do you hear me?" _

"_Yeah, I hear ya," he replied reverently. As carefully as he could, Wheeljack installed the chip and accessed the information contained within. It was everything he would need to know to treat himself for burns, electrocution, or if blew himself up in a minor explosion._

"_Thanks, Ratch'. This is amazing." _

_The medic nodded slowly, optics shining brightly as he looked up into the awed optics of his friend. They shared a brief smile between them before Ratchet went back to his work on Wheeljack's hand and Wheeljack continued to sift through the information gifted to him. _

_He would have to find a way to repay the medic some orn._

* * *

There was a grunt beneath Wheeljack before a pair of hands came up and shoved him to the side. The interface lines between the two mechs tangled, then pulled free to dangle between them. A sharp, electric buzz shot through their systems, sparks appearing before their optics in wake of the abrupt disconnection.

The engineer scrambled at the edge of the berth where Ratchet had shoved him before he ate a good chunk of cold metal floor. Once he regained his balance on the edge, he scooted in and rolled over to look down into Ratchet's glowing optics.

"Yer online?"

There was a short nod as a reply.

"Right, 'course ya are. Mechs don't recharge with their optic on." He laughed nervously. "How ya feeling?" he ventured, scared that Ratchet would suddenly revert the raving lunatic he had to wrestle in the med bay that morning.

"Like slag," Ratchet grunted.

"Then you should be recharging, y'know? A couple of joors of recharge is not enough to make up for four orns of being online. Not to mention the pit ya raised on the twins; thanks to you, they're gonna be out of it fer a while."

A ghost of a smile passed over the medic's tired faceplate. "Good. That's a small bit of compensation for the pit they put me through."

"But still, you should be recharging right now-."

Ratchet sent the engineer a wry smile. "It is kind of hard to recharge when your processor is being bombarded by memories of the past," he replied.

"Oh, right." Wheeljack laughed guiltily. "Sorry about that- didn't realize I was transmitting," he said apologetically.

"It's alright. I didn't mind much," the medic replied, his voice scratchy as his vocal processor booted up. He turned his head enough to shoot the engineer a curious look. "Why that memory?" he asked. Of all the memories they had together, why choose that one to think of?

Wheeljack shrugged. "Don't know… I guess 'cause yer leaving again…"

"I see." A hand reached up, metal warm and gentle as it cupped the engineer's faceplate. "Didn't we see each other again the last time?"

"Yeah…" Optics wandered absently over Ratchet's faceplate, then down his frame. "But this is different. Yer gonna be gone, like _really_ gone; I won't be able ta contact you. If I get hurt, you won't be able to fix me… We've been together fer as long as we've been online- it's always been you and me- I make it, break it, blow it up, then you patch me up and tell me I can make another one that was better than the one before. It's going to be strange not having you around- not having you with me…"

The hand that had been cupping Wheeljack's faceplate fell to his arm, covering the panel in the hard armor that protected the circuit board that housed Ratchet's chip. "I _am_ with you. My files, my codes, my subroutines are in that chip. You will always have a piece of me in you with that chip, just like I will always be in your spark as well- and you in mine."

Wheeljack's fins flashed, and then he nodded slowly. "Yeah… about that…"

Ratchet tipped his head, letting go of the engineer and pushing himself into a sitting position. "Yes?"

The engineer sat back, hand deftly moving aside a whole section of his shoulder plating and extracting from within a small, nondescript chip- identical to the one that Ratchet had gifted to him so many vorns ago.

"I want you to have this," he said, holding out the chip with a shaking hand.

Ratchet stared at the offered gift with a mix of surprise and curiosity. "What is it?"

Wheeljack faltered, trying to think of what he should say. "It's a chip- I made it fer ya; I copied all my engineering files on ta it. It's fer when ya leave- like when ya gave me that medical chip when you left." Feeling awkward just holding out his hand, he reached out and took one of Ratchet's stationary hands and placed the chip in his palm. "This is just in case someone gets scrapped- y'know, 'cause yer just a medic, ya reattach the limbs, ya don't build them. Now ya can build them too."

Ratchet's hand finally closed over the chip and he brought it close to his spark, his optics looking down at his hand as if he were holding the most precious object in the universe.

"You did have to do this," Ratchet said quietly.

" 'Course I did. There was no way I was letting you go without giving it to you."

"Thank you, 'Jack," he replied, a smile playing on his faceplate.

Wheeljack shrugged. "It's nothing- I had ta repay ya somehow fer everything that you've done fer me-."

It could have been exhaustion that made Ratchet do it, or maybe it was the fried emotional circuits that Wheeljack detected in his scans, but before the engineer knew what was happening he was drawn into a loose hug. Dusky yellow arms became dusted with the remains of flecked off white paint as Wheeljack was enclosed in Ratchet's embrace. The engineer's arms acted automatically, wrapping around the other mech to return the hug as best he could.

Ratchet's voice was quiet as it whispered in his friend's audio receptors. "You never had to repay me for anything; you've done as much for me as I've done for you."

Wheeljack laughed. "Are yer memory files on the fritz? I think you've fixed me a couple of times more than I've had to build something fer you."

"It all evens out in the long run; we're friends after all, we're not supposed to keep score."

"But that takes all the fun out of it, Ratch'."

Ratchet snorted through his vents, shaking his head. A quick scan over his friend with scanners that were still shaky from minimal recharge told him that the engineer was just as drained as he was; at any moment both of them could keel over offline. Without a word, the medic slid over on the berth and then drew the other mech close so he would be comfortable too.

"Ratch'?"

"Medic's orders, we both need some recharge."

Wheeljack sighed. "Oh, so _now_ yer gonna listen to medic's orders."

"Mute it, 'Jack. We're getting too old for this; let's just recharge."

In the dim light of the quiet room, Wheeljack's fins flashed mutedly. Slowly, with a whisper of old gears and a sigh of overworked servos, he settled down next to the familiar frame of his closest friend. In an act to get comfortable, he slung an arm across Ratchet's chassis and drew him close. A small smile passed over the engineer's faceplate, shifting to get comfortable against the warm frame of his friend. He turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder, glancing toward the doorway where a skinny silver figure sat waiting.

"If anyone needs us, take our comms, Tungsten."

The little drone perked up, processing the command, before leaping to its feet and scrambling out the door to perform its designated task.

Ratchet gave a whispered laugh of air through his vents. "Good idea; no slagging interruptions."

Wheeljack patted Ratchet's hand, the one that still held the delicate chip containing all of his copied files. "We might as well enjoy what time we have left without being interrupted, old friend."


	9. Of Iacon to Epsilon

Okay, this is part of a two part scene, _Of Iacon to Epsilon _setting things up for the action to begin in _Of Epsilon to Iacon. _Yay Action! I can't wait!

Be warned, I make heavy reference to the movie adaptation prequel. "Simfur" is the city that the main Decepticon forces were attacking the day the Allspark was launched, even though the Allspark's actual location was in Tyger Pax. If there is confusion, I'm really sorry.

Devcon is an actual Autobot bounty hunter who makes his only appearance in Transformers G1 in the episode "The Gambler". He is NOT an OC.

As well, I would like to point out that the "ultrasonic frequency bombs" (and their uncreative name) is a collaborated idea between me and my dad, the concept working on the principle that electronic systems, as well as solid objects, can be taken out by introducing the right high or low frequency to screw it over. The idea is a complete work of fiction, but if someone, somewhere, has actually invented a bomb that works on the same principle… well, that's just _really_ cool, and I hope they gave the bomb a better name than I did. And if a Physics Major is reading this now and thinking, "this freak is off her rocker, it isn't possible!" Please bear with me and suspend your disbelief for however long it takes to read this chapter. Thank you.

And, I just want to say thank you to my very wonderful reviewers who make all this worth it: **VAwitch**, **theshadowcat, Bluebird Soaring, litahatchee, lady tecuma, OptimusxElita4ever, Twospotz, Dragon, Stripperella, JessyJazz, a.mild.groove**, and **Blume**. This has been the most reviews I have ever received for one chapter in this story; I am both flattered and honoured! I want to give a _very_ special thanks to those who offered their support and condolences in their reviews and PM's from last chapter. My heart was touched and I sincerely want to thank all of you, your kindness really helped me through this time. I dedicate this chapter to all of you.

* * *

Where Cybertron had once been a shining jewel in their corner of the galaxy, the planet now lay to waste as a barren planetoid of charred and twisted metal, the echoes of mechanical screams and weapons' fire haunting the atmosphere. Buildings that were created from architectural genius, thousands of years old, made of towering silver metal, now stood collapsed upon themselves; blackened, hollow shells of their once great selves.

Cybertron's formerly famous transport system, the envy of several mechanoid-based planets in the system, had buckled under the several millennia of war they suffered through. Smooth, quick highways lay black, dead, and broken across the surface of Cybertron. Some were crisscrossed with the molten rivers of slag that had melted off buildings and roads that had been caught in intense bomb explosions.

The underground ways were not even an option anymore; most collapsed within the first few vorns of the war, leaving the surface pockmarked with sinkholes and valleys from where the undergrounds were blasted out.

The silence that now blanketed Cybertron was something that no mech would ever grow accustomed to. There was always distant gun fire going on somewhere, the sounds of war carried over great distances by malicious winds, but the immediate vicinities were deafeningly quiet. Where there was once always a flurry of activity; whistles, chirps, and chatter of Cybertronians talking, clicks of street-maintenance drones, lights flashing from all manner of bots, buildings, and objects, the constant buzz of electrical signals in the air that everyone could access- now there was just dark silence.

Being beyond the life and safety of Iacon, or any other base for that matter, was always disconcerting for any mech. Walking, running, fighting amongst the ruins of their home, some wondered if the war was even worth fighting anymore if their was nothing left to fight for.

But, perhaps the most haunting thing about Cybertron now was the _bodies. _

Hundreds. _Thousands._ Whole squads; battalions; camps of Neutrals, or even cities worth of bots. All rendered nameless and faceless in the unending, ever-shifting tides of war.

Strewn across the landscape, _countless_ frames laid dark and deceased. Some Autobot, some Decepticon, some Neutral, and others lay wasted as the frames of unlucky mercenaries and bounty hunters that claimed no loyalty to any faction.

Most frames were little more than slag thrown to the wayside, shot so full of holes that it was hard to tell what they once were, be it mech or femme, bipedal or quadruped, or any other form. Those which were not horrendously disfigured by weapons' fire were scavenged for parts, cannibalized by either allies or enemies. Chassis ripped open and torn apart; whole limbs removed from the frame only to be reattached to another; wires striped from within, armour striped from without. Any part that could be salvaged was taken.

It churned the tanks and burned the spark of any poor bot sent out into the no-mech's land beyond any Autobot base.

Unfortunately for Bumblebee, whose function as a scout had him often deployed beyond the walls of Iacon, the barren wasteland of Cybertron was a disturbingly _familiar_ sight. He was almost numb to it now.

* * *

"_Status Bumblebee; how are things out there? Any Decepticon activity?"_

Arcee's digital transmission broke Bumblebee from his musing easily. He sent out a full spectrum scan of the immediate area he was scouting, determined the few life forms within range- none of them with Decepticon signatures, and opened a digital link to reply.

"_Nothing interesting out here," _he replied. _"Nothing but debris and slag for as far as my scanners will stretch; only a few scavengers here and there- no Decepticons, though." _

The sigh that came over the comms sounded almost disappointed. That was Arcee for you; once the apprentice of Ironhide, she harboured the same trigger-happy ferocity that the old, gruff mech was infamous for. She was also one of the very few femmes who worked beyond the femme contingent, her sniper skills making her a valuable asset to any team she was assigned.

"_You _**sure** _there's no 'Cons, 'Bee?" _she pressed. _"Not even a blip on your sensors? I'll even take minor ionized particles in the air, or a radar reading of a piece of scrap that looks suspiciously like Laserbeak, if it'll get me away from here."_

He could practically feel her desperation to break ranks. She just wanted to get away from one rambunctious, full-of-himself mech that had an annoying, blatantly obvious infatuation with her.

She was fine with Ultra Magnus, having worked under him in Iacon for as long as she had been in service to the Autobots; Kup she could stand if she tuned out the long, monotonous stories of the mech's widely travelled youth, and Bumblebee himself was one of her favourite mechs to work with, having served under his command a few times in Tyger Pax and elsewhere.

_Hot Rod_, on the other hand, was not her favourite mech to work with on any occasion; too loud, too enthusiastic, too obvious about his infatuation with her. It was a good thing he was normally stationed at Epsilon base or the poor femme would be at her circuit's end trying to deal with him.

"_Now, come on, Arcee, it ain't so bad back here with us mechs," _Kup transmitted on an open comm that went to both Bumblebee and Arcee, revealing that he had been eavesdropping.

"_It's not you and Ultra Magnus I have the problem with." _She replied curtly.

It didn't take a genius to know who she _did_ have a problem with. _"Hey now, Hot Rod's not a bad mech either, just… enthusiastic, is all. Try ta give 'im a chance- or at least put up with 'im until we get ta Epsilon."_

A harsh, grating growl of gears came over the three-way comm. _"You're not the one that has to put up with him trying to hail you over several different frequencies, __**at the same time**__! He's been doing it ever since we left Iacon! And all he wants to do is talk!"_ More growling overtook the comm link, giving Bumblebee the distinct impression that Arcee was suddenly channelling Ironhide. _"He's being completely irresponsible- he's not even using regulated Autobot frequencies or bothering to dampen the signals! If a Decepticon were to come by right now, we'd be lit up brighter on their sensors than a magnesium explosion in Wheeljack's lab!" _

"_You're being too harsh." _Bumblebee transmitted. Though he recognized the foolishness in Hot Rod's actions, the mech was only a few vorns older than he was, making Bee feel a little defensive for his own youthful age as well as Hot Rod's.

"_He's being careless!" _Arcee shot back, her transmitted voice ringing in both Kup and Bumblebee's processors.

"_I'll give the mech a talkin' to, if that'll keep ya from havin' a meltdown," _Kup said placidly, trying to keep the peace. His comm link instantly silenced.

There was silence between Bee and Arcee for a while; for so long, in fact, that Bumblebee thought the femme had cut the comm. without him knowing. He took the time to check his sensor read outs to ensure that the area's status had not changed. No; stll no sign of Decepticon activity. Eventually, though, a frustrated snort could be heard through the comm.

"_Great, Bee, now he's trying to get a hold of me through a digital link-! Like that's any better!"_

"_You could always pull an Ironhide and shoot him," _Bumblebee offered.

"_Don't tempt me, Bee! I am one circuit away from fritzing out on him!" _she shouted. Another stretch of silence overcame them, and then she sighed_. "I hate not being able to hear your voice anymore- I can't tell if your being serious or not when your just transmitting messages like this."_

"_Sorry. Digital feed; there's no inflection. I hate it too." _Suddenly he wished he had his vocal processor back so that he'd be able to speak with Arcee, _really _speak with her, instead of sending her monotonous lines of code, completely without spark behind any of the words.

"_I'd much rather be up there with you right now, instead of back here… Are you __**sure **__there are no anomalous readings up there that __**could **__be Decepticon?"_

He silently laughed to himself over her persistence. _"Yes, I'm sure. Sensors show no Decepticon signatures within the immediate area; no disruptions in harmonic fields to even hint that they're hiding their signatures. The place is completely clean. You'll just have to deal with Hot Rod a little longer until we arrive at Epsilon."_

"_Primus, 'Bee, I'll have shot him by then!"_

"_You'll find a way to deal, you always do. We'll be at Epsilon by the end of the orn."_

Bumblebee silently laughed as Arcee transmitted him a few choice curses as a reply.

Even if he had been her commanding officer at Tyger Pax, they still had a lax relationship between them that was bothered little by being outranked by the other. In short, they were still good friends.

Her ranting transmission was cut short when his sensors picked up something, sending an alert to pop up before his peripherals. Quickly, he acknowledged the alert and scanned the data, assessing what it was and the best course of action to employ. Skidding to a halt in his sleek alt mode just as he came to the very dregs of the vast expanse, Bumblebee shifted to his bipedal mode and opened a secure Autobot frequency channel to the four mech group he was scouting ahead for.

"_Ultra Magnus, sir, I've approached the boundary of the Black Expanse. Awaiting orders; do I proceed?"_

There was a brief pause as Ultra Magnus assessed the proposed request, then the channel opened and he replied, _"No. Hold your position until we can rendezvous at your coordinates. The Expanse is dangerous enough as it is crossing it with a team, going in alone is a risk I will not allow you to take; continue scanning the area for any suspicious activity, but remain concealed until we get there."_

"_Understood." _Bumblebee cut the transmission, did a quick secondary scan of the area, and then settled down underneath the melted outcropping of the side of a destroyed building, pushing aside the mangled bits of long ago scrapped bots as he made himself comfortable. Ultra Magnus and his team were only a few breems behind him; the wait would not be long.

Bumblebee continued to run full spectrum scans of the area as he waited, setting the information uptake to be analyzed by background processors until they picked up something that need his immediate attention- until then, the young scout turned his optics to the deep valley laid out before him, made by the concussive force of several dozen ultrasonic frequency bombs, or USF bombs, going off around the city.

**The Black Expanse**.

It had once been the grand capital city of Simfur, whose splendour Bumblebee had only known through downloading archives from the base's library; the city had been one of the first to fall in the beginning of the war. The young scout had ever only known the place as a gutted husk of rust and slag, darkened by vorns of abusive weapons' discharge and drowned by layers of energon spilled violently from the frames of countless bots.

And then came the orn that the Allspark was launched into the vast clutches of the cold, endless universe.

The plan had been to "leak" falsified information to the Decepticons to make them believe the Allspark was at Simfur. For the most part, the plan worked. Prime, along with several of the strongest battalions the Autobot forces had to offer, had met the Decepticon attack force in a head-on battle that raged for many orns. Megatron had even reared his ugly head in the battle, taking on Optimus in a headlong clash between two titanic titans of power.

No body knew exactly what went wrong after that...

All accounts from that orn just said that Megatron suddenly stopped mid-battle with Optimus, transformed, and burnt the sky with his afterburners as he rushed off to some unknown destination. There was no logical reason to account for Megatron's sudden departure. There was no way was the fragger was retreating- not while so many Autobots still wanted a piece of him (preferably a piece ripped off painfully and violently!)!!

But Bumblebee knew what no other mech did; the true reason the mighty Megatron fled from the heat of battle.

Megatron had had an affinity with the Allspark. He could _sense_ its presence even without the aid of sensors or scanners.

The pit-slagging High Lord Protector of Cybertron had been kind enough to share that one piece of information with the scout before he brutally crushed 'Bee's vocal processor and left him for slag.

All the planning, scheming, and preparations the Autobots had gone through for the launching of the Allspark were nearly put to waste; only Bumblebee's determination and continued defiance in the face of an enemy far larger and more powerful than he was saved the orn.

It was only when the Decepticons realized the true location of the Allspark, and that their leader had left the planet to go after it, that the Battle of Simfur took a turn for the worse.

Once the Decepticons realized that their leader had taken an unexpected detour to space, their mindset instantly switched from "capture the Allspark" to "kill everything within arms' reach; don't go down without taking as many Autobots as you can with you!"

The latter mindset was most likely in the forefront of the nameless Decepticon drone's processor when he set off the four dozen USF bombs that had been hidden around the city.

The bombs were untested technology, developed by Soundwave as a way to completely blind the Autobots by disrupting their sensor arrays with super high-frequency sound waves. The bombs were supposed to be parting gifts to the Autobots as soon as the Allspark was in Decepticon hands.

Being untested technology, nobody knew exactly what would happen if the bombs went off.

From what Bumblebee gathered from reports on the battle, the explosion had been unlike anything any Cybertronian had encountered before. The initial concussive force of the bombs was enough to knock everyone off their feet, sending some bots flying over quite large distances, then the piercing shriek of the USF's overtook the air and bots just began to collapse as every system in their frames- Decepticon and Autobot alike- was disrupted and they either went into immediate stasis, or stopped functioning all together.

Audio-receptors blew, and then bled blue with energon. Some sparks actually gave out from the stress.

Buildings simply crumbled under the stress of the super-charged sound waves.

As the frequencies built up, the lower level transportation ways that lay just beneath the surface of Simfur collapsed, sinking the remains of the city into the ground. Because of the depth of the newly created valley, the ultrasonic frequencies were trapped within the concaved ruin of the city. They remain there even to this orn. Though not as powerful as when they were set off vorns ago, the ultrasonics were still strong enough to disrupt a bots' sensors within the valley, leaving them virtually blind.

Thus the nickname gifted to the city that was once the grand city of Simfur, now called the **Black Expanse**.

* * *

Bumblebee knew the instant that his team had caught up with him long before they came into optical range. Ultra Magnus's great, rumbling form could easily be discerned over the deafening silence that remained omnipresent over Cybertron. The scout looked up just in time to see the team rounding the last bend around the ruin of a rusted husk of a building, now making their way towards him.

Ultra Magnus was heading the four-bot team, his large alt mode cutting through the refuse-strewn ground easily, carving the way for Kup's older, pockmarked alt mode to bounce and rattle behind him on the uneven ground. Both mechs were of heavier models than the rest of their team, with thick multi-layers of armor covering their frames instead of the newer, thinner, high-density armor plating that Perceptor had designed and all the younger bots were equipped with.

Backing the group was Hot Rod's sleek alt mode, larger than Bumblebee's, and of a more showy design, painted in hot, bold colours of reds, oranges, and yellows, that spoke of youthful brashness. At the tail was the small, magenta form of Arcee's alt mode, nearly hidden behind the comparably massive forms of her fellow Autobots. Her weaponry was notably deployed as a precaution, one gun aimed for the aft of Hot Rod ahead of her.

The scout stood up from his waiting place and waved.

The brilliantly colour streak of metal that was Hot Rod instantly broke rank and sped toward the minibot, going full tilt and transforming along the way so that he came to an impressive sliding halt in front of Bumblebee.

"Been waiting long?" the mech asked amiably as he clapped the younger bot on the back.

"_Long enough," _Bee replied, faceplate stretching into a smile to show that he was teasing. _"I was being beginning to rust out here waiting for the four of you."_

Hot Rod laughed. "Yeah, well, we would have gotten here sooner if we didn't have to go so slow for Kup to keep up."

The said older mech was at Hot Rod's shoulder when he said this, and as such, the young mech was cuffed upside the head.

"Heard that, ya little glitch," the old mech groused. "Smarten up or I'll reprogram ya next time yer rechargin'!"

Hot Rod snorted loudly through his vents, grinning and stepping out of his mentor's reach. "Not before you have a system failure, old mech," he replied teasingly. "All I heard from you the entire way here was nothing but grunts, bangs, and the grinding of gears; you'll fall apart long before you get a hold of me."

Kup shot the mech a reproving glance, but the corners of his mouth quivered in the ghost of a smile. "That may be, but if ya don't start watchin' yerself, there's a mighty strong femme here who's good with her guns and wouldn't mind takin' a good chunk out of yer hide." He moved his head as his spoke, realigning his neck joints with a series of cracks, then worked his rotator cuffs in his shoulders, getting old kinks out after such a long journey.

Arcee obviously caught the tail end of the conversation pertaining to her as she approached the three mechs, Ultra Magnus not far behind her. She lifted her faceplate high, thrusting her chassis out, and hefting her bow-designed plasma cannon against her shoulder as a sign that, indeed, she would take a chunk out of Hot Rod if he dared bother her again with his inability to mute it.

She took up a position next to Bumblebee and glanced up at him, nodding her greeting as they awaited orders to proceed from Ultra Magnus. Bumblebee glanced down in return, smiling to her and nodding. She was an unusually small femme, the top of her head only reaching to his chest; if her frame were any smaller, she'd be considered a mircofemme.

Ultra Magnus stood a good height over the rest of his team, probably standing equal to Prime's height, or maybe more. He stared out over their heads to the Black Expanse beyond. It was dark, silent, and foreboding, beckoning them in with the sweetened intent of a killer with an outstretched hand and a charming smile.

"Say the word, boss, and we're off," Hot Rod said, jerking his head in the direction of the city-ruins. After so many orns with the Autobots of Iacon, he was anxious to return home to Epsilon.

Ultra Magnus nodded. "Best to do it as soon as possible; I want to get across before night falls. We're virtually blind in there and there is no sense in putting ourselves in further danger by being sensor blind _and_ in the dark. We'll cross the Expanse as quickly as possible, Bumblebee in the lead. Our sensors may be useless in there, but Mirage has assured me that Bumblebee is the best scout the Autobots have ever had, I have every faith that he will be able to get us across safely."

Bumblebee puffed up proudly, playing a short, jaunty sound byte for everyone. Hot Rod gave him an impressed look.

"Alright, youngling, lead the way," Kup said, already shifting back into his alt mode.

Arcee shot a sharp look over the Expanse. "Weapons out while we're in there, everyone," she said. "Stay on alert. Ironhide'll have my aft if he finds out any apprentice of his let one of their team mates get shot."

Hot Rod transformed and nudged Arcee's legs, revving his systems to purr deliciously. "Does that mean I gotta stick close to you the whole time?"

She shot him a despairing look and transformed, kicking up rusted scrap onto his form as she shot off toward the precipice of the Expanse. "No, it means that you stay the slag away so that I can complete my function and protect this team- otherwise, _I'll _be the one shooting up your aft!"

Bumblebee and Hot Rod watched her departure, one grinning the other stunned, then the latter mech sighed dreamily.

"Yeah, Bee, she wants me," he said, driving off after her.

Bumblebee laughed silently and followed after his team mate. Hot Rod was only a little older than Bumblebee, by a few dozen vorns at least, but hardly in the same league as the scout.

While Bumblebee had been raised and trained by the best of the best Autobots, Optimus Prime, Prowl, and Ironhide to name a few, and displayed amazing aptitude for scouting, thus being awarded the title as the youngest scout the Autobots ever had, Hot Rod had been taken under the wing of Kup at Epsilon base. Though Epsilon base was in no way lesser than Iacon, it _was_ in a quieter district and saw a lot less action than Iacon did. Where Bumblebee had been made aware of the war and its dangers at a very young age, maturing him far beyond his age in a very short amount of time, the relative peace at Epsilon allowed Hot Rod to revel in the immaturity of his age- and he never quite grew out of it.

It was the worst feeling to be within the Black Expanse. Even though your fellow comrades were only an arm's length away, it was like they weren't. No radar, no infrared, no communications whatsoever. It was total and complete isolation. A bot could be standing right behind you and you wouldn't even know it until they got you.

Bumblebee kept only a short distance ahead of his team; constantly glancing back to make sure he didn't lose them. Without his voice, and without the ability to transmit anything to them, he was utterly mute. Were he to be separated from them, there was no way he could call out to be found.

As he moved smoothly over the terrain, he consulted the chart of the Expanse he asked Hound to download for him. Hound was one of the few scouts that possessed intimate knowledge of within the valley- he was the _only _mech on Cybertron who seemed to enjoy the alien sensation of being cut off from everything, left to fend for ones self and explore to the spark's content. Scouring the chart and consulting their current surroundings, Bumblebee surmised that they were already passed the greater half of the valley.

From somewhere behind, Hot Rod revved anxiously. "We almost through or what?" he asked. "I feel like my processor is going to explode!"

"That's just your harmonics being disrupted by the ultrasonics," Ultra Magnus replied. "Try setting your systems at a higher frequency. That should help with the disruptions."

A few moments later, a relieved sigh came from Hot Rod. "That's better. Thanks, Magnus."

"It's no trouble. It's just a little trick I picked up from an old friend who frequents this place."

Kup's engine huffed. "Eh, and who would that be?" he asked. "Not a glitched up bot like Hound who likes this sort of place, is it?"

"No, he's an old Autobot bounty hunter, Devcon" Ultra Magnus replied. "Maybe you've heard of him?"

Something wheezed from within Kup. He drove over a large pothole and series of metallic clangs sounded from him for a while. "Yeah, I've heard of 'im. A damn good mech at his job- not surprised he'd come ta a place like this often; it's the perfect little hole for a Decepticon on the run ta hide in."

Bumblebee paused at the top of an embankment, his sharp optics scanning the surroundings for anything suspicious. His audio receptors were trained for the sound of anything out of the ordinary. He gave his team a quick once-over glance before scanning the sky behind them; a speck that was not there before appeared dark against the sky. The scout's spark jumped; he switched to battle mode immediately.

Arcee caught the scout's cue immediately and transformed, already in battle mode. "Something's up, everyone at the ready," she called. The three mechs ahead of her shifted to their bipedal forms, their weaponry activated and charged.

They couldn't hail the Cybertronian jet in the Expanse, so they had to wait until it was closer to make a visual identification.

It did a wide circle around them once, twice, and on the third time it came down so low that its slipstream stirred up the wreckage-strewn ground. It was a dark blue air craft, sporting an old Autobot decal on each of the wings. The five-mech group tensed as the jet swooped in low again, coming closer. It touched down and transformed smoothly, raising an arm in greeting.

Ultra Magnus did a double take of the figure before laughing and dropping his weapon, returning the gesture of greeting. "Well, if it my old friend," he called amusedly. "Everyone, stand down, we're safe."

Arcee remained adamant with her weapon. "Who is he, Ultra Magnus?" she asked suspiciously.

"This, Arcee, is Devcon," he replied. "The mech we've been speaking about." The said mech bowed shallowly, not taking his optics off the group. Arcee hesitated for an astrosecond before finally dropping her weapon.

"Ultra Magnus," he said, his voice modulated to a deep bass that resounded through the quiet. A smile played on his faceplate. "What brings you to such a place? The Expanse is not normally a place for sight seeing."

"We're not sight seeing, old friend, just trying to get across to Epsilon before nightfall," Ultra Magnus replied. The bounty hunter nodded, optics turning in the direction that would lead them to Epsilon.

"You do not have a long journey left," he replied.

Bumblebee slowly tuned out of the conversation, focusing more on the surroundings instead. While everyone chatted, he would keep on the look out for any form attack.

"So what brings ya ta the Expanse?" Kup inquired, looking over the new arrival with interest. Devcon was an unusually tall, thick mech, his frame obviously custom built to include a wide range of varied equipment as well as several layered panels of armor, the older style like Ultra Magnus and Kup.

Devcon quirked a smile. "I've been commissioned by Rigel VII base to track down an elite group of Decepticon saboteurs who have been wreaking havoc on Autobot bases; they've been sneaking in, wiping entire databases, and sneaking out without so much as leaving a trace. Their trail led to here, where I've been searching for them for orns. When I saw you five, I thought you might be them."

"I see. It certainly is easy to mistake ones identity in here without our sensors," Ultra Magnus sighed, shaking his head.

Bee narrowed his optics as he caught sight of something shift in the distance; a pile of scrap fell over with a clatter. A sigh escaped his vents and he turned to scan another area. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

Hot Rod looked the towering mech over with a thinly veiled look of interest. "Hey, you probably know this place better than anyone- why don't you be our guide across so we can get out of here sooner."

"That would be fine, if Ultra Magnus would allow it. It would certainly be a welcome deviation from the normal doldrums of my uneventful orns here."

Arcee wandered away from the mechs to climb up the embankment and stand next to Bumblebee. "How's it looking out there?" she asked, peering across the landscape to the distant upturn of the valley that meant the end of the Expanse.

Bumblebee shrugged, clicking as a response. She smiled up at his and patted his arm.

"Bee! Arcee! Come on, we're leaving!" Hot Rod called loudly, braking the moment between them.

The sounds of Cybertronian transformation echoed through the air as the six Autobots shifted to their alt modes, Devcon taking to the air quickly to guide the group through the quickest way out of the Expanse.

They missed the glint of glowing red optics sinking back into the piles of scrap.

They were being watched after all.

* * *

"So, is this a round trip, or only one way?" Devcon inquired as he flew low over them. They were on the very lest leg of their journey through the Black Expanse, with the slope of the valley looming high over them close by- growing higher the closer them came.

"Round trip for Bumblebee, Arcee, and I," Ultra Magnus replied. "One way for Kup and Hot Rod; they're normally stationed at Epsilon, but Kup was visiting Iacon to inspect and discuss our security directives with Red Alert, Iacon's Security Director."

"Ah, so this is simply an escort mission?" Devcon inquired. "Why take one of the most dangerous paths for something so simple? There are far easier ways to get to Epsilon, though they may be longer."

"We needed the shortest way possible to cut down on travel time, we needed to get to Epsilon as quick as possible to collect the _Ark_ and return it to Iacon."

"The _Ark? _Forgive me if I'm a little out of touch with present mattered, but isn't the _Ark_ a deep space exploration ship? What would we be needing with one of those at this present time, there's a war going on?"

"It was at Epsilon to be outfitted with the proper weaponry needed for a deep space search and rescue mission," Kup explained. "Epsilon was the prefect base to do the outfitting since it's an out-of-the-way base in a quieter sector; no 'Cons poking around in our business."

Devcon dropped a little lower over them, interested in the topic of conversation. "And this search and rescue mission… it couldn't possibly be for the Allspark, could it?"

"Yes. Optimus Prime himself has placed himself as commander of the mission," Ultra Magnus said.

"I sent in my request to be part of the mission yersterday! Going out there, exploring worlds, looking for the Allspark- sounds way better than being down here orn after orn." Hot Rod remarked.

"Watch yer mouth, Roddy, we're down here doing a good thing fighting the Decepticons." Kup said. "Besides, I took your request out. You're not ready for something as big as this."

"Kup is right, a search and rescue mission of this magnitude is quite an undertaking." Devcon intervened. "Someone older and more experienced should be the one to be on the mission."

Bumblebee wished he had his voice just so he could say that he was requesting to be put on the mission as well.

"That aside, I am so glad to hear that we are finally doing something to bring the Allspark back to Cybertron," Devcon said impressively. "Is a time set for the launching, I would like to be there for the momentous occasion, permitting that my hunt is over by then."

"It's set for a few orns after-."

Bee sent out a high-pitched squeal that immediately cut off the sentence. He circled around the group quickly and darted in to ram against his commander's side, not hard enough to knock him over, but enough to mute him.

"What has gotten in to you, Bee?" Kup demanded, surprised by the outburst.

Bumblebee continued to whistle and screech, unable to communicate properly what he wanted to say. Ultra Magnus regained his balance and swerved to shove the little scout back.

"I think he wants us to stop talking about the Allspark. We've already spoken too much about the matter; this is not a secure location to be talking about such delicate subjects." Arcee said. Bumblebee agreed with loud revving of his engine.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to pry into delicate matters," Devcon said. The jet lifted higher into the air, turning sideways to slip through a narrow opening between two collapsed buildings. "But, as it appears, there will be no need for any further conversation; we've come to the end of the Expanse."

And so they had. The menagerie of alt mode came to halt before a broad, trampled path that led up and out of the valley. Beyond that, in only a couple more joors of travel, would be Epsilon waiting for them.

Devcon eased down slowly to hover just above the ground. "This is goodbye for now, friends. Perhaps we'll see each other again on your second round through- until then, safe travelling. My Primus protect you." The jet shot up and took off back towards the dark silence of the Expanse, leaving the team of Autobots alone for the last part of the journey.

Bumblebee spared a last glance over the remains of Simfur, logging it all to memory. For a moment, a single moment, his optics seemed to catch a glint of red in the vastness of rust and scrap, but then the light was gone and the scout shook it off as his processor playing tricks on him.

Too bad the optics that had been watching him were not a figment of his imagination…


	10. Of Epsilon to Iacon

1

1. _Rewind_- homage to Blaster! One of his cassettes, because none of them ever got any real air time! I know Rewind is a mech in G1, but she's a microfemme here because I wanted to have a tiny bit of variety. Please don't kill me.

2 _Multi-phasic shielding_. You know you're a trekkie when… lol. Yeah, that's right, I stole the idea from Star Trek, and I just gotta say; Gene Roddenberry rules! (And, just in case: Disclaimer; I _so_ don't own Star Trek.)

3 _Astroplex_- a shameless little homage to Metroplex. Since Metroplex was built on earth _and_ a ground base, I couldn't use him, but that didn't mean I couldn't give him a little shout out!

5 _Omega Supreme- _Yeah, I know, he's really monotonous in G1, and I _tried_ to make it work, I _really_ did, but there was _no_ way I could do it. I had to give him a slightly more amiable disposition to make everything work, but if it counts, I did try to give him the emotional range of a rusty bolt!

6. _Bee's Solar Agitator and shoulder mounted missiles_- In Official Movie Guide, it says that he has a solar agitator instead of just a regular plasma cannon, so that's just what I'm going by. And the missiles? Yeah, anyone else notice them in the movie? I did after the _sixth_ time I watched it, and I couldn't believe I missed them the first five times!

As per usual; this is Thank You Corner, dedicated to all you very kind readers who take the time to leave a review, no matter how long or short! Thank you kindly to **Bluebird Soaring, a.mild.groove., theshadowcat, Litahatchee, lady tecuma, Twospotz, Stripperella**, and **Kittona**! You are are so very, very, very kind to leave your reviews!

And **Litahatchee**, **lady tecuma**, for our frequent correspondence and flattery that we toss back and forth, I dedicate this chapter to you two!

**Warning, two words: **_**Long Chapter**_

* * *

"Home: no where else on Cybertron like it!" Hot Rod exclaimed proudly as they crested the last hill to Epsilon base.

Kup drove up behind his apprentice, transformed, and gazed out over the base with a proud expression. "Yeah, it's good ta be back," he said, patting the younger mech on the shoulder.

The base was set up differently than Iacon. Where Iacon was set up to be a compact, no-frills battle structure in which most of the important functions and facilities were located underground, Epsilon certainly took a more spread out concept into its design. No doubt in part to its more out-of-the-way status.

The entire ground-complex was guarded behind a towering barricade of non-descript grey tri-tanium, capped by a series of automated defences, sensor arrays, guard posts, and multi-phasic shield emitters. Within the base, several large compounds were built virtually on top of each other, all of them appearing to jostle for the best air space. They were each connected by a series of crystalline and metal transportation breezeways crisscrossing the space between like glittering threads of micro-fibre filaments.

At the epicentre of Epsilon, reaching out from the labyrinth of support and technical buildings, was the colossal main building. It was a gleaming obelisk against the darkening sky, conceived of layers of dark metal twisting upwards into the sky to inconceivable heights. The complex was built after the war began, serving as the air-to-ground docking bay for the massive air base that hovered stealthily above Epsilon. At the moment, it was that very air base- Astroplex- that housed the precious deep space ship everyone was anxious to launch; the _Ark._

Arcee leaned against Bumblebee's side lightly, looking worn out. Because of her small size, she had to take the whole way double-pace to keep up with her mech counterparts. "Nice place," she murmured, scanning the area with a lazy sweep. "It's certainly different from Iacon."

Bumblebee nodded, whistling his agreement.

Ultra Magnus opened his communications hub and hailed Epsilon. _"Autobot Base Epsilon, this is Iacon Base Commander Ultra Magnus. My team and I are approaching your perimeters; requesting permission to enter." _

There was a pause as the request was received, processed, and their Autobot signatures were scanned to be deemed authentic. Soon afterwards, a femme's voice intoned across the comms link.

"_Commander Ultra Magnus, this is communiqué officer Rewind. Your request for entrance has been received and approved; you may enter the premises. Chief Medical Officer Patchwork is on his way to intercept you at the gates for the protocol scan. " _

"_Thank you. We will be there shortly. Ultra Magnus out."_

"_Noted. Rewind out."_

Even from the distance they were at, the five-mech team could see the defence systems disengaging, the pulse blast cannons jerking back and folding down into submissive positions while the multi-phasic shield emitters were turned off.

Hot Rod was practically bursting out of his exoskeleton to get to Epsilon now. Arcee watched him warily, groaning tiredly and leaning the rest of her weight against Bumblebee's frame. Just watching the mech jump around in anticipation was making her even more tired.

"_Does he ever mute it?" _she asked, via private digital link to Bumblebee.

Bumblebee gave a few short revs of laughter. _"Not unless you hack his systems and do it for him." _he replied, via same private link. Arcee rolled her optics, too tired to really enjoy poking fun at Hot Rod. Bumblebee easily caught onto the femme's wearied stance and became concerned for his friend. _"Are you alright?"_

Around them, Ultra Magnus was already informing the team that their request had been approved and that Patchwork would be at the gates waiting to give them their protocol scans to make sure they weren't tagged with tracers or infiltration bugs, or worse- infected with a virus. Though the duo kept their audio receptors a tuned to their commander, Arcee and Bumblebee carried on with their private conversation.

"_I'm fine Bee, just a little drained from the trip. I just got off my shift with Moonracer when Ultra Magnus requested that I be the gun-femme for his team."_

"_There was no one else?"_

Arcee shrugged, slipping a little before being caught by Bumblebee's large hand. He hoisted her up to his shoulder where she could rest a little easier, rather than expend the remains of her energy reserves trying to stand. Seeing the strain recharge-deprivation put on Ratchet made Bumblebee a pit of a lot more sensitive to the plight of other tired bots.

There was a moment that Bee thought Arcee would kick up a fuss over the treatment she was receiving, but then Hot Rod threw an interested glance their way and she bristled, not interested in having the other mech offer his shoulder to her as well. A hand found its way curled underneath the edge of his shoulder plating so she couldn't be moved.

"_There was no one else. Everyone with a worthwhile shot was either on duty or assigned outside Iacon and couldn't be contacted."_

"_Ironhide too?"_

A rev of laughter was startled from the femme. _Old 'Hide? Yeah, he was busy alright… Last I heard, he and Chromia had locked themselves into one of the firing ranges, but you and I both know what they're __**really **__doing in there-."_

Bumblebee chirped in alarm. _"Don't say it, Arcee! I'll purge my memories banks if you do."_ There are some images in the universe that no mech should have to picture, whatever the weapons specialist and his bonded were doing in the firing ranger was one of them.

Juxtaposed to their digital conversation, Ultra Magnus and Hot Rod were already transforming and heading down the slope that led to the base.

Kup gave an old groan of his servos as he stretched. "If ya don't mind, 'Magnus, I think I'm gonna walk the rest of the way. A good stretch of the ol' leg cables would be nice right about now."

Instantly, Hot Rod was up in his bipedal form, looking like he was about to deactivate on the spot. "Come on, old mech! Don't do this to me! It's just a little further- don't you want to get home?! Don't you want _me_ to get home?!"

Kup waved his apprentice off with little patience. "It ain't like I don't want ta get home, Roddy, but this old frame isn't what it used ta be. Being compacted in ta my alt mode all orn seized most of my cables, I gotta walk it off ta get the lubricants running or my whole frame is gonna seize."

A spasm crossed Hot Rod's faceplate like he was about to fritz. He really, _really_ wanted to get home to Epsilon!

The team commander revved once, idling patiently on the side of the hill in his alt mode. "Do as you like, Kup, and the four of us will go on ahead. Take your time to catch up."

Bumblebee and Arcee tuned into the conversation just in time to make it look as if they had been paying attention the whole time.

The old mech barked a laugh that crackled out of his vocal processor. "Ya know I will," he said, grinning gruffly. "If Patchwork's gonna be there waitin' ta give the maintenance check, than I'm gonna be going as slow as I can without going backwards. That old aft is about as nice as Ratchet on a bad orn."

Bumblebee shuddered. Hadn't Ratchet mentioned his old mentor once? Something about him being some sort of tyrannical glitch? If someone like _Ratchet, _for all his temper tantrums and tool throwing, could call another mech a 'tyrannical glitch', then it _must_ be pretty bad…

"_How about Arcee and I walk with Kup, to be his escorts…?"_

Arcee shot him a humoured glance. "_Aw_, is someone afraid of a little check-up?" she teased, poking his head. He batted her hand away.

"_The check-up isn't what I'm afraid of," _the scout replied. _"Watching Ratchet rage around the mad bay yesterday was bad enough, I'm not sure I want to meet the mech he learned it from."_ Arcee revved with laugher.

* * *

As the three bots approached the gaping maw of the gates, Patchwork was there. Alone. Looking a little tenser than what would probably be deemed safe for any bot. It seemed Hot Rod and Ultra Magnus had abandoned them to the medic's mercy.

He was an older model mech by the looks of it, designed specifically for the medic's trade, with his seven digit hands and multi-spectrum laser array built into his optics. He obviously had not reformatted for the war, retaining his older-than-pit frame from probably _before _the Golden Age, still sporting his old medic's decal above his Autobot's insignia in the middle of his chassis. He was a dusky yellow reminiscent of the colour Ratchet wore, yet far more faded than that of Iacon's CMO.

Bumblebee looked the mech over warily, surprised by the utter familiarity between this mech's severe expression and Ratchet's. It was the exact same "don't slag with me" look that Ratchet employed so well.

"It took you long enough," he rumbled, obviously annoyed with their tardiness. "I hope you're all aware that I don't have all orn to waste on you; I have other patients that need attending to. You could have seen it prudent enough to hasten your pace instead of dawdling the whole way. "

Kup groaned, stretching again until something sounded like it cracked. "Ah, slag off. I ain't as young as I once was," he replied, not at all perturbed by Patchwork's less than stellar greeting. "Ya can get after me all ya want, but lay off the younglings; these two here were just doing their job escorting me."

"A likely story, you old codger" Patchwork huffed, blocking their way into the gates as he fixed Kup with an obstinate look. "I've seen space dust faster than you."

Kup fixed the other mech with a disgruntled look. "An' I've met Decepticons with better dispositions than you," he replied. "Are you gonna let us in the gates, or are we gonna spend the night exchanging friendly banter?"

Bumblebee and Arcee exchanged glances. So Bumblebee's fears were not as unfounded as they thought; Patchwork really was a glitch.

Epsilon's CMO narrowed his optics and stepped aside. "Get in," he grunted. "And stop wasting my time."

The instant they were in the gates, the medic threw up the sign for the gates to slam close and the security to re-engage. The guards up on the ramparts saluted loosely as the three bots passed into Epsilon.

Without skipping a beat, Patchwork stepped behind them and thrust his hands into Kup and Bumblebee's backs, shoving them roughly into Epsilon's closest building- which just happened to be the main medical wing. Arcee shrieked a little as she was jarred from Bumblebee's shoulder, but caught hold of his horn-like short antennae before she fell.

"Could you be a little gentler?" she asked caustically as she pulled herself back up.

Patchwork shot her quick glance then returned to shoving the pair of mechs through the wide corridor. "Your leg functions are operational, aren't they?" he asked sharply.

She was a little taken back by the question, but replied with a suspicious nod in the affirmative.

"Then you could have walked here instead," he said. He shoved them into the last door of the hall, bringing them into his med bay. "There's no need for you to be up there."

Arcee bristled, her thin fingers digging in roughly to the edges Bumblebee's armor. "He was doing me a favour, I was tired from the journey," she replied. There was a bite to the edge of her voice.

"Yes, well, I am sure that every other mech on your team is tired as well, but you don't see him carrying them," Patchwork pointed out. Without a word of warning, he reached up and plucked the femme from Bee's shoulder, ignoring her as she shrieked for her release.

A sharp, blue light shot from Patchwork's optics and ran over the length of Arcee's frame. She must have been in perfect health because Patchwork just glared and said, "the only thing I can tell you now is to mute it and get some recharge tonight so you don't crash the _Ark _tomorrow. Maybe you can have your comrade here _carry_ you to your quarters as well, just in case you're too _tired_." It was hard to tell if he was just being plain rude or if he was baiting her for a fight.

The gun-totting femme looked too furious for words to respond. Bumblebee caught the dangerous, miniscule twitch of the femme's gun hand; a sign that she was ready to just un-subspace her bow cannon and start firing. The scout easily slid between them to diffuse the fight before it got worse.

"_Sir, if you could quickly scan me, that would be appreciated," _Bumblebee said, facing Patchwork with his hands up to show he was seeking peace. _"Arcee really needs to recharge, and I'm sure you have more important duties to attend to here."_

The medic stared down the minibot with a hard expression, too close to Ratchet's dark expressions for comfort, and then seemingly relented. He patted Bumblebee on the shoulder wearily.

"You have a valid point, young scout" he said, deflating. A bare smile crossed the edges of his faceplate. "Ratchet indeed was right about you- Bumblebee, was it?" Bee nodded. "I've heard many great things about you, I hope you know. Ratchet seems to think you have a talent for keeping the peace…" the old mech regarded him with a scrutinizing gaze. "I reluctantly would have to agree with that assessment."

Taken aback by the unexpected compliment by the decidedly irksome medic, Bumblebee managed to transmit a shaky thank you. Arcee shot Bumblebee an incredulous look, like she had suddenly been betrayed.

Kup snorted, leaning against the nearest berth in the bay. "Are my audios on the fritz, or did you just pay another mech a compliment?" he asked jokingly.

"Mute it," Patchwork barked stubbornly, instantly reverting back to his obstinate self after that astrosecond of managing to be, Primus forbid, _nice_. Bedside manner was _not_ a program he employed often. "I'm just going to scan you quickly, Bumblebee, and then you take _her-," _he jerked his head in Arcee's direction, "-and leave me in peace."

Arcee gave a violent snort through her vents before marching over to the nearest berth, hefting herself up, and sitting down stubbornly.

Bumblebee's scan took as much time as Arcee's did; the blue-toned light of the scan shot from Patchwork's optics, easily swept over his frame, and then abruptly ended. As Patchwork reviewed the results of the scan, he poked and prodded around Bee's frame, stopping briefly to inspect the scarred metal of the minibot's damaged neck column. The metal there was deformed a little from the several surgeries Ratchet had preformed in attempts to restore Bee's vocal processor.

Straightening up after one last prod to the scarred metal, Patchwork gave the scout a deadpanned expression. "Looks like you're fully functional. Congratulations." He turned and swiftly swept Arcee from the berth she sat on, herding her towards the door. "Now get out." The scout trotted after his femme companion before he lost her.

The med bay door snapped closed behind them the instant they were in the hall. Through the door, they caught the old medic rounding on Kup.

"_You look like slag, rust bucket."_

"_I'm old; I always look like slag. Tell me something I don't know, for once." _

"_Alright. You're an idiot too…" _

Bumblebee nodded his head in the direction of the lift a little ways down the hall, silently asking if Arcee wanted to get going. She "harrumphed" at him mulishly, marching ahead of him. It was apparent that she still felt betrayed.

* * *

The night passed by quickly and moderately quietly. The only break in the dull nightshift atmosphere was when a jovial and slightly overcharged Hot Rod came by Arcee's quarters to see how she was settling in. Driven to the end of her patience by all the cumulative frustrations of her orn, the femme miraculously managed to toss the mech from her quarters and leave him in a crumpled heap in the hall after just a few short exchanges of tense banter.

After listening for too long to his bleak, intoxicated pleads to know what he'd done wrong, Bumblebee took pity on the mech and brought him into his own room. Hot Rod stayed for a while, happily relaying all the good Epsilon gossip he had learned from Blurr and Rewind over a few cubes of high-grade to the politely listening scout. Being unceremoniously tossed from Arcee's room was all but forgotten in his processor.

It was not until Kup came by, after finally being released from Patchwork's arduous scans and the volley of insults the old mechs tossed to each other, that Bumblebee was able to rest his poor audio receptors. Though Hot Rod was a friend of the scout's, it came as somewhat of a relief to see his back in the doorway as he was guided away by a tired and grousing Kup.

Orn-break came in a flurry of activity as last minute touches were put on the _Ark _to prepare for its departure. Overseeing the preparations was the once-mentor to Wheeljack, Wrenchwire. He was at the epicentre of the activity, conducting with his four arms to the maelstrom of drones and bots running about Astroplex's hanger intent on putting the finishing touches on the _Ark._

Standing impressively below the ship was Ultra Magnus, watching the wild activity with a placid smile on his face. He stared that the underside of the ship, envisioning the coming future of Cybertron heralded by the hope the launching of this ship would bring.

Bumblebee grinned as he stepped foot inside Astroplex's main hanger. The _Ark _looked amazing! Even Arcee, who was maintaining her stubborn cold shoulder towards Bumblebee, cast an impressed glance over the stunning ship- her optics focusing on the impressive new weaponry installations.

Although it was only in its compacted state for storage convenience, it was still an immense ship, taking up a vast majority of the scant space in Astroplex's hanger. There were still several cables hooked up to the ship, inputting the right calibration equations and filling the data banks with libraries full of information that would undoubtedly be needed for the mission. The haul plating had been enhanced with an array of spatial distortion resistant materials; cobalt/tungsten main body armature, gleaming tri-tanium interstellar slipstream channels, blast-proof crystalline view ports, and amazingly well-crafted, heat-resistant rhenium/tungsten coated thrusters.

Obviously the sensor arrays had gone through major overhauls if the complex series of sensitive sensors that rounded te ship were anything to go by. Weaponry had also been upgraded to include several plasma cannons, launching grids for projectile weaponry, and an array of EMP blasters located in the ports on the ventral side of the ship.

"Ain't she a beaut'?!" Someone crowed from just behind Bumblebee. A quick hand slapped down on his shoulder and shook him amiably. "Never seen a ship better lookin' than this one!"

Nearly jumping out of his own armor, the scout spun around to be met faceplate to faceplate with a multi-hued green minibot grinning from audio receptor to audio receptor. Initial identification scans revealed that this loud, grinning bot was designated "Wrenchwire". The bot swung around to meet Arcee, a secondary set of arms detaching from the underside of his primary arms to clap her on her own shoulders.

"Look at her, my dear! Sexy little thang, ain't she?!" the engineer cried, shaking Arcee excitedly. "If she were a femme, I wouldn't mind tanglin' interface lines with her! Y'know what I mean, eh? Eh!"

Bumblebee was forced to do a double take of the engineer as he darted off towards the _Ark _with more excitement oozing off of him than a youngling about to receive its first upgrade. As Wrenchwire skidded to a halt below the ship, Ultra Magnus raised a hand in greeting and the engineer skittered over to jabber excitedly at the city commander while gesticulating wildly with all four of his arms.

Bumblebee continued to stare. _That _was supposed to be Wheeljack's mentor? But he was so… so… _energetic_, and _enthusiastic, _and, well, he acted so _young_; not at all like the older mechs Bumblebee knew.

The scout nudged Arcee. _"Energetic, isn't he?" _he asked in hopes of clearing up the bad air between them.

The femme quickly shook off the shock of being accosted by the strange mech, regrouping to fix her faceplate into its originally obdurate expression. "Whatever." She snorted, and then marched away.

Bumblebee sagged, staring after her back as she disappeared into the rushing crowd of bots and drones. The cold shoulder act was really starting to get old, but he had no idea how to fix it. He had spent all night trying to get through an apology for something he had no idea he did, only to be blocked off on every frequency he tried.

Suddenly Bumblebee was aware of a very gigantic presence kneeling down at his side. Jerking around to face the bot, the minibot was faced with the very gigantic frame of the Epsilon's base commander, Omega Supreme. The scout had heard once that Omega Supreme had been one of the immense Guardians that protected Cybertron under the command of the High Lord Protector, but never had Bumblebee imagined the sheer size of the ex-Guardian. Simply put, he was HUGE! He could have easily been the size of a small transport ship.

Though the commander's faceplate was heavily scarred and ill suited to convey emotions, it was at least obvious that he was offering the minibot a pitying look.

"**You can't win them all, little one," **he said. Even a whisper from him came out boomingly loud. **"Keep at her and perhaps she'll come around." **

Bumblebee stared up at the commander in awe. He managed a shaky nod, failing to point out that Arcee was only a friend, not someone he was courting.

Omega Supreme nodded in return. He straightened up with a growl of objecting gears and servos. Bumblebee had to step back a few paces to continue to stare up at the gargantuan mech's face.

"**It appears that the **_**Ark **_**is almost complete with its refitting." **He waved over Iacon's base commander and Epsilon's head engineer. Ultra Magnus wandered over to the pair with Wrenchwire in tow. **"How are the preparations proceeding?"**

"Looks like we'll be ready to head out shortly," Ultra Magnus replied, craning his neck to be able to look into his fellow commander's faceplate. "Wrenchwire just wants to do a last-astrosecond check of the engines and then we can launch."

Bumblebee whistled happily, looking forward to returning home. _"Does Arcee know?" _

"Yes, I let her know before she boarded. She's checking out the weapons bay at the moment," the commander said. Bee acknowledged him with a nod.

Wrenchwire sidled up to his own commander and patted him on the lower shin, the highest point on Omega Supreme the minibot could reach. "Yeah, never seen a ship finer than this, I gotta tell ya, Commander. 'Thought Prime was outta his processor callin' me up fer the refittins when he's got Wheeljack down at Iacon with 'im- an' Wheeljack's better than any mech I've ever known, y'know? But hey, we got Astroplex and whatnot here, and are all outta the way from the main branches of the war, so I could see his point sending the _Ark _here. Smart mech, that Optimus Prime is. _Not_ that I'm downplaying my own abilities- No sir! Not a second rate mech here! Taught Wheeljack everything he knows! He learned from the best, he did!"

The mech appeared to be gearing up for a spiel.

"Yes, sir! This here was a team effort 'tween me an' him!" He gestured to the aftside of the ship. "I mean, look at those thrusters! Rhenium/tungsten coating- Primus, good ol' Jack's a genius ta come up with the right refining process ta come up with a perfectly manageable form of it. It's got the highest melting point in the entire galaxy. I swear, ya can run those thrusters on high fer vorns without seeing wear! An' don't even get me started on the guns! We got plasma cannons! EMP blastors! Solar agitators! The list goes on! Even got a couple of UFBs in there, just in case! I'm bettin' my damn spark that this here ship is gonna get y'all ta the Allspark no problem! No doubt about it at all!"

"**It is good to hear that the Head Engineer responsible for the refitting of the **_**Ark**_** is so confident in his work. I look forward to the launching."**

"As do I," Ultra Magnus said. "I am eager to return to Iacon. Too long away from that base often causes me to worry extensively over what trouble has been stirred up in my absence."

Bumblebee grinned. The only kind of trouble in Iacon any mech in command would worry about was the kind that came synonymous with the twins. They seemed to take it upon themselves to live by the philosophy of "when the cyber-cat's away, the glitch-mice will play". They even lived by the philosophy when the cyber-cat _wasn't_ away.

Omega Supreme chuckled, a sound that was as loud as two boulders colliding, and gazed around at the crazed congregation of Autobots in the hanger. **"It is difficult to be any Autobot Base Commander when the bases you command are full of such **_**energetic **_**Autobots." **

" 'Energetic' is a nice way of putting it," Ultra Magnus replied good naturedly.

Wrenchwire clapped his primary set of hands together, the secondary set already drawn up into the underside of the primary. His faceplate was stretched into a wide grin. "No bot ever said 'energetic' was a bad thing," he said. He leaned over to wrap an arm around Bumblebee's shoulders. "Ain't that right, lil' Bee?"

"_No, energetic is a good thing," _he replied, and then gestured to the wildly running, yelling, and fritzing bots around the _Ark_. _"But I'm not so sure about crazy…"_

Wrenchwire paused for an astrosecond, and then burst out into loud revving laughter, thumping Bee on the back. "Crazy's just another way to say genius!" he exclaimed.

"**Or 'Autobot', as it stands." **Omega Supreme smiled down at his head engineer, amusement alight in his blue optics, though it was hard to tell from such a distance.

"I concur," Ultra Magnus agreed laughingly.

Wrenchwire revved with even louder laughter, waving off the commanders with one hand and shaking Bumblebee again with the other. "Never mind them," he crowed. "I like ya, y'know? I can tell yer a good mech, a good soldier- I have a talent fer knowing these sort a' things. Yer gonna come with me fer one last look over the engines before I give this beauty the okay to let her go!"

Before he even gave his consent to help, the scout was dragged away by the engineer into the bowels of the _Ark_ to inspect the recently installed, redesigned engines.

"_Final systems check; all systems are go. Starting engines and bringing all sensors on line… now." _Ultra Magnus's voice rang loud through the entire base, his voice being projected through both Astroplex and Epsilon's ground base so that no one missed a moment.

Rewind's voice cut through the base loud and clear in response to Ultra Magnus. _"Depressurising Astroplex Main Hanger; dropping bay door… you are clear for launch, Ultra Magnus." _

Waiting eagerly for his cue, Bumblebee hovered over his consol in anticipation to enter the command to launch the ship. Ultra Magnus turned impressively to the scout and nodded firmly. _"Entering Iacon coordinates; engaging engines."_

With a few clicks of excitement, Bee entered the correct sequence, feeling the ship vibrate around him as the thrusters engaged. With a moderate jerk, the ship started toward the freedom of the wide open space beyond Astroplex.

Just before they were free of Astroplex's hanger, Omega Supreme's deep voice came over the comms, just as his faceplate appeared over the main view screen. He stared directly into Ultra Magnus's optics. _**"The hope of Cybertron is resting on that ship, Ultra Magnus. Get it to Iacon in one piece."**_

The Iacon commander levelled his gaze with his Epsilon counterpart. _"I will. I promise." _

In the background of Epsilon's command center where Omega Supreme stood, Hot Rod, along with an assortment of other gathered mechs, jostled for room to bid enthusiastic goodbyes to the departing ship. Kup was featured near the back of the room, hand raised to the screen in goodbye, just as Wrenchwire came dashing into view waving all four of his arms gaily. Even Patchwork bade them good riddance with a surly posture and a hard glare.

As the gleaming ship took to the air fully, suspended low over Cybertron's surface like a great looming sentinel, a thunderous cheer rose up from Epsilon base, ringing proudly through the air. Hope was now on the horizon.

* * *

"_Are you talking to me yet?"_

"_No."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because."_

"_Because why? What did I do that was so wrong?"_

A stubborn snort came through the comm.. _"It's not what you specifically did, Bee, it was the principle behind the action."_

Bee sat at his recon station for an astrosecond, analyzing Arcee's transmission. What principle? What action? _"I don't understand. Can you at least tell me what I did wrong so I can at least apologize for it?" _

Had he been up in the portside gun turret where Arcee had taken refuge for the trip, he would have seen the femme tense, her faceplate crumple into a mash of anger and disappointment, and her fist strike the targeting consol venomously.

"_You didn't back me up, Bee!"_ she shouted. _"Patchwork was completely attacking me and you did nothing to defend me! What the pit were you thinking? We're supposed to be team mates- I thought we were friends-!"_

"_We __**are **__friends-!"_

"_Friends back each other up!"_

To this, Bumblebee had no reply. He struggled to string something together to tell her that he had had no intention of siding against her when he had cut in between her and Patchwork- he just wanted to end the fight before it began. _"I- I'm sorry." _

"_It's a little late for 'sorry', Bee." _

She cut the comms abruptly, leaving Bumblebee stunned where he sat. She curled up in the seat she occupied in the gun turret, wishing desperately that there was something out in the ruins for her to shoot.

She knew in her spark that this was more than just a case of a friend not backing up a friend; her feelings for her superior officer, for _Bumblebee_, were of more than just friendship, and they were starting to get in the way. The scout, as intelligent as he may be, was far too naïve to see what was right in front of him. It was best for Arcee to just let everything go and get back to things that were important. It was illogical and unhealthy for her to be pining away over a mech she could never have; if it got any worse, she would have to modify her emotional subroutines so she didn't have to deal with the distractions.

* * *

Ultra Magnus glanced up from his monitoring post to the hunched over form of Bumblebee moping at his station. It truly was a pitiful sight.

"Look alive, Bumblebee," he ordered. "Sensors show that we're coming up on the Black Expanse. We're about to go completely sensor blind; I need you alert and out there for recon. There's no time for you to sit there pouting over your disagreement with Arcee."

Slowly, Bumblebee rose from his seat and slouched out of the bridge.

The commander sighed, watching the scout leave. Alone at last on the bridge! Perhaps he would finally be able to find some respite from the storm cloud Bumblebee seemed to be tracking around with him. He settled back into the Captain's chair, relaxing fractionally while still monitoring the _Ark_'s functions.

Transition into the Expanse was a smooth one, at least.

As soon as they were over the Expanse, they dropped the ship lower into the valley so as to not be so out in the open above it. Instantly, as anticipated, all main sensors and communications went down.

It was completely quiet as the _Ark _crept along the Expanse. There was a new tenseness to the atmosphere that had not been there before.

The view screen lifted from the front of the bridge, revealing the large crystalline view port hidden behind it. Out it, Ultra Magnus peered curiously at the landscape and the little yellow blur of Bumblebee doing his job below. Vaguely the commander wondered if they were going to have another surprise visit from Devcon, if only to break the doldrums of the last leg of their mission.

* * *

Bumblebee drove along the path gouged into the rusted land with the intensive purpose of keeping his optics peeled for any sign of Decepticon activity. This was the last leg of the journey, the most _important_ part of the journey; there was no room for mistakes; no room for his feelings to get in the way.

The Expanse stripped him of his sensors, his communications, and any connection to any of his fellow Autobots close behind him in the ship. He was relying purely on his skills as a scout out here.

_It was a make or break situation. _

He had to be more alert than his last trip through; more alert, more thorough, more vigilant. It wasn't that he was being paranoid about the Expanse- no; it was the feeling that he was being watched that made him on edge. The disturbing feeling that hidden optics were tracking his every movement, the haunting sensation that had followed him throughout the first trip, had grown more intense during the second.

Unable to take the intense pressure of the unknown force watching, Bumblebee circled around again. He veered sharply to the right, vaulting the detritus that had accumulated along the rough trail, and dived into the wilderness of the rust and shadows. With all the skill that Mirage had trained into him, the scout swept the area carefully. He zigzagged in a wide curve around the _Ark, _covering as much ground as possible.

He veered around to the left side of the ship, transforming to stand tall on the ruins of a building. In the far distance, he could make out the vague image of flickering lights. A scavenger camp perhaps, or Neutrals? Bumblebee darted away before his interest could be piqued; the feeling of being watched was getting worse. He grew increasingly restless.

A glint of red caught his peripherals. Swinging around, gun already out and charging, Bumblebee targeted an innocent red filament that most likely once belonged to a monitor. He sighed and retracted his gun.

This was getting ridiculous.

He took up front position again, leading the way for the _Ark_ as the ship cut through the air with a stealthy hum. Getting frustrated with Expanse and its omnipresent silence, not to mention the constant thought of Arcee being brought up in his processor, Bumblebee roared his engine and shot ahead. He put major distance between him and the ship, enough so that he nearly disappeared from view in the view ports of the bridge. Though he was being reckless in doing this, the distance was a necessary thing for the small bot to get some of his processes in order. He just needed a couple of astroseconds to think.

Something shifted to his left. There was a whisper of rust sliding against rust.

A louder crash sounded to the right, causing the scout to halt. A crash that loud could only be made by someone moving something; there were no winds or vibrations in the Expanse to move anything big enough to make such a racket.

Now completely convinced that something was concealed in the ruins, Bumblebee shifted to his bipedal form and trained his cannon on the general vicinity of the area where the sound emanated from. He cursed himself when he realized that he could not send out any demand for the hidden bots to reveal themselves; he could not even issue a warning that he knew they were there.

Glancing back at the _Ark_, Bumblebee realized the true rashness in his decision to put so much distance between him and the ship. With his gun still trained to the right of the path, he failed to pick up on the threat was stalking him from behind.

A single blow to the back of his head was enough to disrupt his neutral relays enough to knock him out. His frame hit the ground hard. A foot came out and kicked him hard in the side panelling, tossing the minibot across the path easily.

The bulky black-armoured mech that had struck him regarded the fallen warrior with a critical optic. Once it was confirmed that Bumblebee was indeed out, the nameless mech made a motion to the exact position the scout had had his gun trained on astroseconds before. Two more bulky shapes rose from the detritus, one bipedal, one the shape of a hulking quadruped.

One bot jerked its head towards the oncoming ship. No more waiting; it was time to attack. The other two agreed stonily.

* * *

Not long after the three-mech team of Decepticons left, Bumblebee began to stir feebly. Thank Primus Jazz had showed him how to install a rapid-reboot program in case he was ever knocked out in battle.

_Systems attempting to reinitialize… rebooting… rebooting… warning; disruption in field harmonics detected. Abnormal ultrasonic frequencies are interfering with the reinitializing of basic systems…_

Bumblebee groaned as a long list of the impaired systems scrolled across his vision. He didn't need his maintenance programs telling him what was being interfered with- he could _feel_ it.

And then he remembered _why_ he was having such problems rebooting his systems. Someone had knocked him out from behind.

Dismissing his vertigo while his systems tried to regain their equilibrium, Bumblebee turned to face the Ark, expecting the worse. The ship was a lot closer to his position than he anticipated. Either he had been out it longer than he thought, or Ultra Magnus had picked up the ship's progress to get through the Expanse quicker. It didn't matter which was true, though, not while three hulking black shapes were streaking through the detritus towards the ship.

Panicking, Bumblebee threw his gun up and fired a large volley of super charged photons, lighting the sky in a display of blue explosions. There was no way he was going to make it to the ship on time, so he could only hope that Ultra Magnus got the message before the Decepticons got there.

Even before the photon charges dissipated in the air, Bumblebee was already transformed and speeding through the rust and slag towards the ship. His pump was pounding in his chassis at a near critical rate as he pressed his systems into overdrive in an attempt to go faster. Gear burned, energon boiled, cooling fans suddenly becoming inadequate as the scout's entire frame heated up to an intensity that his circuits were in danger of frying.

Thankfully, Ultra Magnus must have gotten the message, because even as Bumblebee sped for the ship, the Ark's battle mode was deployed. A growl of thrusters rattled the valley as the compacted ship rose from its low-hanging position to hover at a safer height, pulse blasters dropping from the ports on the ventral side to target on the quickly approaching unknown mechs.

A spark of hope dared to hum in Bumblebee's chassis as he watched the Ark take several shots at the oncoming bots. Slag went flying, rust coming up in clouds so thick that everything was obscured completely. _'Great shot, Arcee!' _Bumblebee dared to think. It was quiet for long enough to hope that those single shots had taken out the attackers, but then the shifting orange cloud of airborne rust split with a deafening roar as a small, black Cybertronian air craft came screeching out. Hanging off the wings were the two other bots.

Bumblebee's engine was nothing but a screaming whine as he pressed himself to move faster. This couldn't be happening!

The fearsome jet barrel rolled through the air to avoid Arcee's shots, each one getting closer than the last. Before any of the shield emitters could be thrown up, the enemy jet cut a sharp turn under the gun defences and swung in close to the ship's side. One of the hanging on bots, the heavyset quadruped, detached from the jet and hit the ship, large claws deploying to pierce the hull for stability. Without any sensors, the Autobots onboard had no way of knowing that they just contracted a parasite.

The black four-legged beast jerked its spiked limbs from out of the hull, dropping lower on the ship, then reattaching itself near the bottom. As the two other Decepticons kept Arcee and Ultra Magnus busy, the third was able to work undisturbed on the hatch to the ship.

Bumblebee was directly under the ship as he transformed straight to battle mode, aiming his solar agitator at the clinging beast hanging from the underside of the ship. Two shots went off, both missing by fractional amounts; the distance was too great, and his targeting array was one of the affected systems that didn't reboot properly! In horror, his optics focused in on the dark-armored Decepticon as it opened its large, wide mouth, lined with double rows of pin-shaped armor-piercing fangs, and several black cables shot out, burying into the control panel on the side of the ventral hatch.

It was hacking into the ship!

Bumblebee doubled his efforts to dislodge the hulking beast, managing to strike the creature directly on the back several times, and catching it on the hide legs twice. Definitely fragged off by the volley of shots, the beast activated its own weapons systems, shoulder mounted missiles organizing and twisting around to target the scout. Three warheads were fired, two of them just barely missing Bee as he dived out of the way, but the third detonated directly behind him, throwing the minibot high into the air. Warnings scrawled across his peripherals informing him that his back plating had been compromised and several transformational circuit arrays were fried.

Something sharp caught him in the exposed circuitry, jerking him forward, and then up. Oozing trails of viscous energon trailed away from his flailing frame and the jet he was speared upon took a sharp turn up, heading out from under the line of fire. The poor scout writhed in silent agony as he realized that yet another vital system of his was compromised; his tactile/pain receptors. He was unable to shut them down.

"Hold on a little longer, Bumblebee! The jet's coming around again!"

Out of the haze of searing pain that wracked the scout's body, he vaguely recognized the booming bass voice as belonging to the Autobot bounty hunter, Devcon.

On either side of the nosecone he was speared upon, sharpshooter lasers engaged and targeting the oncoming jet, whose passenger locked onto to them with the large barrel of his cannon protruding from his chassis. Booming shots fired at them, then the scream of return laser fire, and the _Ark_ joining the fray as several pulse blasts rained down on them. Devcon managed to manoeuvre around them, but the other jet was not so lucky, its passenger was struck, obliterating its arm and part of its leg, its frame thrown from the air craft and crashing to the far below ground.

Bumblebee steeled himself against the pain burning every neutral circuit in his frame as he grasped Devcon's alt mode and shoved himself forward, dislodging himself from the jet and swinging up to straddle it instead. He nearly shut down from the effort.

"Stay online, Bee! These are the Decepticons I've been tracking! You can't go offline or I won't be able to protect you!"

Optics darting back to the beast still hacking into the Ark, Bumblebee hissed angrily as he realized the fragger already managed to hack the hatch systems and force its way inside. The scout pounded on Devcon to get his attention and then jerked all of his weight toward the ship to show the bounty hunter what the problem was. A series of angry curses roared from the jet as it swivelled around to dive for the exposed entry.

The enemy jet did the same, pulling a corkscrew dive from high above them to hit the entrance full throttle, transforming mid air, using his momentum to throw himself into the lower hanger.

"Pit-fragger!" Devcon roared. His thrusters roared angrily as they put on an extra spurt of speed.

As they neared the entrance, Bumblebee could see Arcee already engaged with the quadruped bot as its accomplice tore up the supplies in the hanger, throwing much of it out the gaping hole of the hatch.

Devon's first loop through, Bumblebee disengaged from the jet, hitting the hanger hard and rolling. Several gears in his shoulders dislocated. He was up and running for the quadruped Decepticon just as the bounty hunter came roaring through the hatch.

"Careful of that one, Bumblebee!" he shouted. "She's a viral specialist! Don't let any of those cables touch you!"

Arcee screeched as her right arm was bitten off, the grating pin-like teeth of the beastly Decepticon easily shearing through her armor. The gaping mouth, stretched across entire breadth of the ugly faceplate, opened wider, fangs glistening with wet energon, as several virus-injector cables shot out.

Bumblebee screeched, leaping onto the back of the beast and taking hold of the nearest missile launcher. With strength that he didn't even know he had, he ripped the armament from the beast's back. Below him, a screaming roar came from the beast. It reared and stumbled back into a wall, crushing Bee with its massive frame.

"Bumblebee!" Arcee scrambled up from the floor, clutching her right shoulder joint where her arm had been torn out. Bright blue energon poured from severed energon lines.

Bumblebee gave her a look that screamed for her to run. He was going to protect her! It didn't matter that she wasn't talking to him at the moment, she was still his friend and he was going to defend her no matter what!

Devcon was shouting something from his corner of the hanger as he took on the other jet. They grappled viciously with each other, close range weapons blowing holes through each of their armor. The Decepticon kicked out with his foot, sweeping the bounty hunter's legs out from under him. They crashed to the floor with a resounding crash, rolling across the debris strewn floor, ripping at each other like it was a brawl to the death.

Bumblebee clawed that the hulking form of the beast as the viral special leapt on him and pinned him roughly to the floor. His optics blacked out briefly as the back of his head hit the floor hard. When his sight blinked back, he was caught staring into the same deep red optics that had been watching him all throughout the Expanse. They were they same unforgiving, deadly optics that had tracked him mercilessly, hungrily…

The beast leaned in close to his faceplate, dried energon flaking off the creature's fangs and falling on him. With wide, blunt olfactory sensors, the horrific thing took a deep drag of the air through its intakes, grinning widely.

"_Aren't you a little taste of the Matrix,"_ the beast growled, a femme's ravaged voice issuing from the beast. To the scout's ultimate horror, as he screeched, writhed, and panicked from beneath the creature, several long black cords descended from the bot's open mouth. Glistening on the end of them were the sharp points of the viral injectors.

Bumblebee redoubled his efforts to free himself. He tried to transform his arm into his gun, but the gears he'd jarred on impact coming into the hanger made it impossible to complete the shift without blowing several lines in his arm. His shoulder mounted missiles were impossible to deploy as well- blaring warnings screaming across his vision telling him that they, too, were compromised.

"Get your dirty claws off of him, you viral fragger!" Arcee screamed.

Bumblebee tensed in absolute terror as the femme who he thought had run out of the hanger, the femme he was struggling to protect, dived between him and the virus carrying cables. They latched onto her in several places, across her chassis, neck column, head, and one ripping past her interface port. Piercing light erupted through the cables, shooting into the pinned femme. Her entire frame arched, threatening to snap in half, as a single, piercing note of a scream was ripped from her vocal processor.

A sudden pulse blast ripped the gargantuan beast from on top of the two Autobots. Arcee fell limply onto Bee, her frame sparking, limbs jerking sporadically. Bumblebee looked up in time to see Devcon deliver another set of pulse blasts to the quadruped's exposed chassis. On the floor next to the bounty hunter, the crumpled mess of his opponent laid smoking and twitching.

"Stand down, Virus." Devcon ordered. "Try anything else, and I'll shoot a hole right through your spark."

Virus snarled viciously. "Not a chance in the pit, Autoaft!"

She charged the bounty hunter, running full tilt at him without any heed to the shots deflecting off her. She rammed him hard in the chassis, sending him flying through the air. In one swift move, the Decepticon grasped her comrade with her teeth and swung the mech onto her broad back. In a shocking move, she ran for the open hanger door and leapt out, diving straight for the ground.

The sliding door to the hanger that led to the rest of the Ark was shot in by a laser rifle as Ultra Magnus finally managed to blast his way into the hanger. It seemed Virus had managed to lock the ship down before Arcee grappled her away from the ship's controls; the entire time his team had been fighting for their lives in the hanger, he'd been fighting to get in.

Devon was up and already running after his prey. "If you want this ship to get to Iacon in one piece, Ultra Magnus, I suggest you get out of here as fast as you can RIGHT NOW!" He then threw himself out the gaping door, transforming as he went. The deep blue jet dove for the ground after the viral saboteurs that had gotten away.

Bumblebee ignored his commander as he cursed loudly in the doorway of the hanger. He continued to ignore him as he went about to the controls and tried to override Virus's encoding, eventually getting the hanger doors to close. From the control panel, he set the ship on automated defence alert and activated all the weaponry. He even rerouted ship's helm controls to the consol he was at, forcing the ship higher into the sky, away from the dangers below, and engaged the thrusters to full velocity. If they were lucky, they would reach Iacon in just under two joors.

None of this matter to the scout as he cradled Arcee's frame in his arms. Her optics focused in and out on him, dangerously dim as she looked him in the faceplate. Her left arm, the only arm she had left, lifted to his faceplate to gently touch him. Where her right arm used to be, Bumblebee tried valiantly to stem the superfluous amounts of energon oozing out by blocking it with his own hands. He was struggling in vain as the energon continued to flow.

Whatever Arcee had been infected with, it was obvious that the virus was already taking its toll; her frame's functions were already beginning to shut down. She was barely lucid enough to acknowledge the extensive list of warnings and malfunctions that were scrolling across her peripherals.

The commander came to kneel by the pair, a large hand coming down to run along the battered armor atop Arcee's head. "Arcee, can you hear me?" he asked softly.

The femme nodded, but her unfocused optics stayed on Bumblebee. Her frame trembled just as badly as Bumblebee's, who was now rocking the femme gently, making desperate cooing sounds to her in hopes that she would hold on a little longer. More than anything, he wished he had his voice so that he could say something to her. He didn't want the last things said between them to be a fight.

"That was a very stupid you thing did. Extremely brave, but very stupid," Ultra Magnus said softly, stroking her head.

"I…I couldn't let…Bee get hurt. I- I care t-too much f-f-for hiiimmm…" Her vocals trailed off. Immediately, her optics went dim and her frame lay limp in Bumblebee's arms; she'd gone into stasis.

The _Ark _hummed to life as it crossed the boundary of the Expanse, finally beyond the nightmarish valley. Sadness flooded the scout as he realized he may have just gained back his way to communicate, but it might have already been too late for what he wanted to say.

Opening a private digital link to Arcee, the scout transmitted the words, regardless of whether or not she was going to hear them.

"_Arcee… I care for you, too." _


	11. Of Chromia and Ironhide III

Yay! I'm back! Sorry about the wait, but you know life- it _always_ gets in the way! I hope you enjoy the chapter! It's one wild ride of intensity! And super long to the tenth degree!

_Perceptor- _Yes, he has had an apparent shift in size. I am perfectly aware of his normal mech size in the G1 series; there is no need to remind me. Yes, I've stuck him in a microbot frame, but I', just trying to add some variety to the story; when you have three size classes, normal to huge size, minibot, and microbot, you can't expect everyone to go for the same size. But, if anyone is curious, Perceptor's stature would stand at a head shorter than Arcee, placing him at eight feet tall.

_CR Chambers- _Cryogenic Regeneration chambers. The idea was gifted to me by _lady_ _tecuma_, so all brownie points go to her!

_D-class and B-class low-grade- _A system devised for differentiating the different energy levels of medical-issue low-grade, seeing as some bots would be weaker than other when they came in and could only handle so much energy. D is the lowest energy level, A being the highest.

_Alpha-class virus-_ yeah, another system of categorizing something, this time being weaponized viruses. Alpha-class is the most severe category to be infected with since it is a rapid self-replicating search-and-destroy program meant for a relatively quick but painful deactivation. The naming scheme follows on through the Greek alphabet because I am terribly unimaginative.

**Thank You Corner is brought to you by "Reviewers"- the people who make writing this story worth it. **I just wish to thank the few of you who took the time to give a little review; my heart always soars when I see someone enjoyed my work! Thank you sincerely to **lady tecuma, Bluebird Soaring, theshadowcat, Litahatchee, VAwitch**, and **Violet Light**. You people are awesome!

And on a further note; dedication to this chapter goes to wise **lady tecuma** and the kind **Violet Light** for putting up with me while I whined. A lot of ideas were bounced off of them in preparation for this chapter and future ones. I can never thank you two enough!

* * *

The firing range, for all intents and purposes, did **not** look like a firing range anymore.

In fact, it didn't look like much of anything any more.

The walls, once worn grey metal, were now riddled with smoking, black impact craters, shards of silver drones, and long, seared lines of super heated slag left behind in the wake of furious volleys of rapid plasma cannon fire. There were only two working lights left in the room, the rest being shot out long before, leaving the room cast in dim ambience that caused shadows to lurk in the crevices of frames and optics to glow bright against the polished metal of faceplates.

The floor was torn up, wires and energon piping bent up and exposed to the furious atmosphere of the room. Benches that once lined the far wall were now tossed across the room, several embedded in the walls, one appearing to have been snapped in half and melted to slag.

The holo-emitters in the room had long ago fritzed out from their extensive overuse. All the practice-battle drones and target drones had been shot and destroyed beyond any comprehensible repair. Twitching parts and ashen scrap piles lay littered around the room haphazardly.

Quite literally, the firing range looked like it had been to the pit and back.

At the epicentre of the destruction laid Ironhide and Chromia- too tangled up in each to acknowledge the devastation they'd wrought on the room around them.

Spread out on the blackened floor with her chassis open, Chromia lay beneath Ironhide like a vision of perfection. Deliciously wanton, her frame undulated to the slow, sensual rhythm that her sparkmate had set. As he moved above her, worshipping her frame in the way she deserved, he memorized her; every low moan that escaped her vocal processor was committed to his memory banks, every roll of dusky-blue armor stored safely away.

Forever would the image of his sparkmate be burned into his processor, with her optics shuttered in rapture and her frame arched high against his.

Her small hands dug into his armor, grasping at the ridges as if he were the only solid thing left in her world. Her vents were gasping hot breaths of air across his frame, eliciting a hungry revving from deep with Ironhide's open chassis. There was sensuality in every movement she made, her fighting spark blazing bright and hot in her spark case.

She did nothing to stop her bonded as he loomed over her, pinning her to the floor with his frame.

Briefly, her optics flickered open, searching Ironhide's faceplate with wanton lust. A single hand disentangled itself from its place in his shoulder plating, falling to his open chassis and grabbing the edge, dragging her sparkmate closer.

"I said I wanted forever, Ironhide, not for you to take forever!" she hissed, her vocal processor crackling from overuse. She had been made to scream a few times in the last two orns.

Ironhide rumbled above her, sending rippling vibrations through her entire frame. "Enjoy it while it lasts, femme. We're not going to have much of this in the future," he murmured, concentrating on dipping his exposed spark close to his sparkmate's. Her internals revved loudly, cooling fans whining in attempts to keep up with burning systems.

"Don't say that! Don't ruin this, 'Hide!" she gasped, her frame shaking uncontrollably.

"Then mute it and I won't have to ruin it," he growled.

She reached out through their bond, using teasing astral fingers to bring him to the very precipice of an overload. He growled, pushing back through the bond. A static shriek ripped from her vocal processor. A low, rumbling vibration of satisfaction swept from his frame into hers.

They tangled together, forgetting where one ended and the other began. It was all One now; a blur of sensation and heat, pounding pumps and grating metal as their frames pressed closed to each other. Strong arms were crushing Chromia's slight frame; she was enveloped in the heavy black armor, drawn into the hot, growling inner world of her sparkmate, folded close, as if he never wished to let her go.

Waves of desire clashed against each other as tides of lust and wanting ebbed and flowed powerfully through one being into the other.

Chromia dragged herself upwards to thrust her entire exposed spark into the open cavity of Ironhide's spark case. The scant distance between their frames was killing her. She wanted to immerse herself in her sparkmate's being. She wanted to feel his every thought, every desire. She wanted to lose herself in him and never be found.

He was overwhelming her by his sheer presence alone.

He watched with deep satisfaction as his mate writhed on the floor. He memorized her. He dipped his spark into hers and memorized her from the inside out. She was fiery and powerful and ready to rip him to shreds if he didn't get the show on the road, but he loved every aspect of her. He wanted to cherish her like she was the most treasured, rare jewel in the universe. He didn't want to leave her.

Through the bond, Chromia was growing frantic for the long awaited overload. Her presence grew into the quick, frenzied darting of a caged animal. She was calling to him, pleading with him, to give her release. She began to fight him. Trying to force him to move faster, touch her sensitized wires and exposed spark case. Her hands were clawing at him now, dragging thin scratch lines through Ironhide's black-as-pitch paint.

'_Ironhide! Ironhide, dammit, I don't think I can last much longer!' _She screamed through the bond. The wash of intense sensations she flooded her sparkmate with nearly sent him over the edge. _'I think I'm going to have a meltdown before an overload!'_

'_You wanted me, you got me. Quit complaining.' _He replied.

The femme underneath him revved furiously. Venomous hissing issued from her vents as she arched herself so high that she was endanger of snapping in half.

Both were oblivious to the pounding on the firing range door.

* * *

"Slag it, you two! Open this door THIS INSTANT!" Red Alert yelled, pounding his fists loudly against the unforgiving metal, cursing the fact that all his shouting was for nothing. The firing range was sound proof. And locked. He continued his barrage on the door nonetheless. "Dammit, OPEN UP!"

He'd been out there for easily half a joor, demanding uselessly for the occupants of the room to come out. He's tried accessing the room's controls, but it was made clear that they DID NOT want to be disturbed when Chromia's encryptions threw him out. She had done one pit of a job on locking the systems down. It even gave him quite a nasty shock to his systems before it ejected him.

"You've been in there for nearly two whole orns! That's long enough! Come out with your weapons deactivated or I'll be forced to blast the door in!"

The pneumatic hiss of another range's door sliding open down the hall was completely missed by the fritzing Security Director as he continued his tirade against the unresponsive door.

Jazz perked up curiously as he watched Red Alert throw what appeared to be a tantrum. A grin stretched across the saboteur's faceplate as he nudged his companion. "Wonder what's up wit' him?"

Prowl scanned the mech carefully, trying to make sense of the illogical behaviour. "He looks to be fully functional, physically..."

Jazz laughed. "Ya sayin' he's finally flipped his lid in the ol' noggin' then?" he asked. The tactician shot him a hard look; though Red Alert was infamous for being strung a little tighter than most mechs, he normally had a good head on his shoulders.

Jazz turned his attentions back to Red Alert, finally noticing what door he was banging on. "Ain't that where old 'Hide and Chromia are hiding?"

Prowl quirked an optic ridge as the Security Director starting kicking the door. "Yes, it is, but what would Red Alert want with them? Optimus gave us strict orders to leave them be for now."

The Special Ops officer slanted his companion a sly grin. "Maybe Firestar is takin' up too much o' Inferno's time an' Red's lookin' ta get some action from somewhere else?"

"I hardly think that's the case," Prowl replied, deadpanned.

They watched for a few breems, puzzling over the conundrum of why Red Alert would be kicking and shouting at a shielded and sound proof room.

Was Jazz's assumption right and Red Alert had finally cracked from all the pressure he put himself under? Or had something happened while they were holed up in their own combat simulation? The training ranges of Iacon wereunder several blanketing arrays, so an emergency could have arisen that they were unaware of. But, if that was the case, would it not make more sense to contact the second in command instead of the weapons specialist?

Curiosity getting the better of him, Jazz made his way toward the other mech. With a single digit, he tapped on the mech's shoulder, and then leapt away when Red Alert swung around in surprise. His optics shone bright, light blue as they settled on the shorter silver mech.

"Wuz'up, Red?" Jazz asked, offering a friendly grin to the fritzing bot.

"They're not coming out!" Red Alert announced loudly. He huffed exaggeratedly, taking a few steps away from the offending door so that he could glare at it. "I've been trying to get in there for over half a joor, but Chromia's put a multi-layered encryption code on the locking mechanism- I can't even get past the firewall without getting my circuits scrambled!"

"But ain't ya the Security Director for Iacon? Shouldn't ya be able ta override all that stuff?" Jazz asked.

A spasm crossed Red Alert's faceplate. He was well aware that he _should've_ been able to get in, which made the fact that he _couldn't_ get in worse. The encryptions that Chromia used were so vicious they could have easily been Decepticon codes- not surprising, since her function was to infiltrate Deception outposts.

"Has it ever occurred to you, Red Alert, that, perhaps they do not _want _to be disturbed?" Prowl asked. "I am quite aware that what they're doing is against almost every rule we have in place regarding the firing ranges, but Optimus has already issued orders for us not to disturb them while they are in there. I'm surprised you'd be the one to try and defy Prime's orders."

Red Alert's faceplate twitched again, making him appear as if he were in pain. "I'm down here on orders by Optimus to get them out of there!" he retorted.

Jazz cocked his head to the side. "Now why would Prime want ta do a thin' like that?"

Looking at a loss for immediate words, the mech just flailed his arms sporadically. "We've just received a distress signal, that's why!" he managed to get out after some difficultly.

Prowl and Jazz exchanged alarmed glances before turning their attentions back to Red Alert.

"From who? When did we receive it? Why was I not contacted right away?" Prowl asked, barrelling down on the distressed mech. Jazz could practically hear the circuits in Red's processor overloading as he tried to process each rapidly issued question.

Carefully, the saboteur intervened before something blew in the poor mech's head. "Hey, calm down, Red, 'fore ya have a meltdown," he said calmly. "An' Prowl, take a few paces back 'fore ya stress the poor mech into stasis." He pushed Prowl away so that the tactician was not bearing down on the stressed Security Director.

Red Alert still looked like he was on the brink of shutting down, but at least he was out from under the critical optic of the second in command.

Carefully, Jazz activated his magnetic fields, placing his hands on the mech's arms to help keep him calm. "Now take it from the top; who sent the distress signal?"

The mech vibrated under the saboteur's touch, like he was ready to jump out of his own armor. "The _Ark_. It was attacked in the Black Expanse. Blaster picked up the distress signal exactly twenty seven breems and thirteen astroseconds ago. Rescue teams have already been deployed to rendezvous with the ship and bring it in."

Jazz's spark fluttered in fear. "The- the _Ark_?" he spluttered. He dropped his grip on Red Alert as if he'd been burned. "Is ev'ryone alright? Bee-? Magnus-?"

Prowl shouldered Jazz out of the way, fixing Red Alert with a hard stare. "Why wasn't I contacted immediately over this matter? If the _Ark_ that has been attacked, than I would expect Optimus to see it fit to inform his second in command of the matter- _not_ his weapons specialist."

Red Alert's internals revved in frustration; he had only been ordered down to the training level to collect Ironhide. He had no idea how to deal with Prowl! "I… I-uh-."

"What is so important about this distress signal that Optimus has seen it fit override his previous privacy orders regarding Ironhide and Chromia to have them dragged out of that range instead of coming to me first?" Prowl raised his optical ridge expectantly, waiting with a hard silence for Red Alert's answer.

Again, Red Alert looked at a loss. He look a slow drag of air through his intakes, and then blew it out through his vents- one of the many calming techniques that Beachcomber was trying to instil in the high-strung mech.

"Optimus wants Ironhide to be there because something happened during the assault. The Decepticons that attacked apparently had _viral_ capabilities-." Quickly, Jazz and Prowl exchanged grim, worried expressions. Again, Red Alert took a calming drag of air through his intakes; he was preparing himself. "Arcee was infected."

"_Frag," _Jazz hissed, his claws clenching against the wall he'd splayed his hand against for support. In all the saboteur's time in Special Ops, he'd seen his fair share of viral warfare. He, and every other soldier in Special Ops, was trained in the utilization of weaponized viruses, should any of their missions ever call for the system they were hacking to be wiped out permanently. It was his own personal preference not to use them, though- they were without style; distasteful and ugly. A Decepticon method, not Autobot.

In all his vorns of experience with viral warfare, Jazz knew only one truth about it; viruses were dangerous. Period. It didn't matter how "minor" one was. A single strand of viral code could do some serious damage to a bot's processor.

"Is she alrigh'? What kind o' virus did the lil' fraggers tag her wit'?" the saboteur inquired harshly.

Red Alert shook his head irritably. "The virus was not specified in the transmission. She's in critical condition, though."

"Arcee was Ironhide's apprentice, was she not?" Prowl asked. His logic center was now easily putting the pieces of the puzzle together; it was becoming clear why Ironhide would be contacted before himself.

"Yes. That's why Optimus wants him there when the ship comes in. It's better that he's there and _knows,_ instead of finding out second hand later on. Should the latter happen in place of the former, he'd tear all of Iacon apart." Red Alert gestured to the control panel to the side of the range's entrance. "But the controls are locked- I can't get in."

"Maybe ya can't, but let's see what Ah can do," Jazz said, sliding up to the panel. "We got no time ta waste getting' those two petro-rabbits outta there." He drew aside the polished panel, drawing his interface cable and hooking up to the system. He flinched back as he immediately encountered the encryptions. Red was right, these codes of Chromia's sure had some bite.

Watching the saboteur sway discreetly, Prowl came up behind him to hold him around the waist, helping support him in case the encryptions fried something and threw him out.

"That's one doozey o' a firewall she's got up," Jazz hissed, leaning into Prowl. "Ah can see why ya had difficulties wit' it."

Red Alert watched anxiously, shifting from one foot to the other. "I don't see how you think you're going to get through when I couldn't. I know those systems like I know my own programming, and they are locked up tight."

"Ah ain't Special Ops fer nothin', y'know-." Suddenly, Jazz gave a random spasm, jerking away from the wall. His interface cable was spit from the wall, a few sparks spewing after it. Prowl caught the stumbling mech easily, supporting him against his own frame.

Jazz grinned crookedly, if not a little woozily. "Looks like ya don' know yer own programmin' so well, Red."

And so Pandora's Box was opened…

* * *

The hissing of the door opening caught Ironhide's immediate attention. He went rigid, growling.

_Someone had broken Chromia's encryptions._

Without warning, he reared, twisting around to face the intruder. His chassis slammed closed angrily, and then his frame shifted to block the intruders' views of his exposed sparkmate. The loud, unmistakable whine of his plasma cannons charging filled the silent air.

Chromia froze below him, her optics flaring angrily. _She. Was. So. Damn. Close!_ Frag Ironhide for working her up to the very brink of an overload and then just leaving her there!

The femme was about to kick her sparkmate to remind him that she was there, _still_ waiting, when cool air from the outside hall brushed against her frame. She sensed the abrupt change in Ironhide's demeanour, her audios perking up to the sound of charging weapons. Instantly, her chassis were closed and her rifle was charging.

_Who in the __**pit**__ was dumb enough to disturb them?_

Red Alert stood stock still in the entrance, silhouetted starkly by the blaring white lights of the hallway beyond. He was obviously taking in the damages wrought on the room, tallying everything from damaged lights to destroyed drones, calculating every infraction, preparing for the very, _very_ long report he was going to have to write up.

Slowly, his gaze dragged across the room to rest on Ironhide's rigid frame. His optics dropped to the angrily glowing plasma cannons that targeted the center of his chassis.

Next to him, Jazz's head appeared. "_Damn_," he murmured in awe as he gazed about the destroyed range. "When ol' bots get busy, they sure do _get busy_."

Red Alert murmured a small sound like a whimper before keeling over. He hit the floor with a metallic clash.

Jazz stared down at the out cold mech, then up at Ironhide. "'Hide, I think you broke Red Alert-."

Something in Ironhide snapped. His whole frame tensed dangerously.

"**GET THE FRAG OUT OF HERE!!" **

"DUCK AND COVER!" Prowl roared, diving across the doorway to snatch both Red Alert and Jazz to safety. Hot on the mech's heels, blazing trails of plasma howled through the air, exploding against the far wall in an explosive display of fury. The metal wall buckled inward, several layers of plating melting clean through.

The ground shook dangerously with the pounding stomps of the irate weapons specialist as he came to loom in the entranceway of the firing range, his thick frame trembling with barely contained killing-rage. His optics were nearly red as he glared down at the three mechs sprawled on the floor, giving each of them a good look down the barrel of his charged cannon.

Red Alert, still out cold from his meltdown, gave a strange squeak.

Jazz raised his hands in defence, harbouring no desire to have his internals shot up one hallway and down the other. "Ya migh' wanna cool down, 'Hide 'fore some poor bot gets shot-."

"_I'll give you until three to spit out one fragging good reason for interrupting us." _Ironhide's voice was modulated into a low, furious growl, making it clear that if he received an answer he didn't like, they'd be eating supercharged plasma. _**"One."**_

Chromia prowled out of the range, her energy rifle already trained on the bots before her. _"Three," _she hissed, levelling the barrel to lie between Prowl's optics.

Prowl sighed in annoyance as he stared up at the pair of furious bots; they were not going to intimidate him with their histrionics, or their guns. "This is ridiculous; you're not going to shoot anyone, _either of you_. Put your guns away and calm down before I have you confined to the-."

Two clear shots rang through the hall, searing the air just above Prowl's head. The tactician froze instantly, his sensors registering the weapon that discharged was Chromia's double barrel energy rifle. She'd fired, but didn't hit him.

Jazz tipped his head back a little to see two burn holes in the wall just above the storm-grey mech's head; the shots had been close enough sear some paint off the top of the tactician's head.

"Don't you _dare _try to tell me to _calm down, _you data-pad pusher!"she snarled at him. Her frame was a blur as she swooped in close, pushing her faceplate uncomfortably close to the tactician's, holding up her index finger and thumb before Prowl's optics so that he could see they were only a little ways apart. "I was _this close, _Prowl, _this close, _and you had to ruin it!"

Prowl scrutinized the pair of digits, clearly uncomfortable with her proximity. "I- I see…" he responded lamely.

Jazz wormed his way between Chromia and Prowl, taking the femme's attention away from his companion and placing it solely on himself.

"Y'know, Chromia, if yer lookin' fer someone ta get after, it's Red here who was lookin' ta get into the range," he intoned lightly. "Or better yet, get after Prime; he's the one tha' wanted ta see ol' Hide. Prowler an' Ah got nothin' ta d wit' any o' this."

Chromia glared blackly, clearly under the impression that the infamously smooth-talking mech was lying.

Ironhide hesitated before lowering his cannons, offering the mechs at his mercy a very dark glare. "And what the pit does Prime want with me?" he growled. His cannons folded back into his arms. He nodded for Chromia to back off so that the two mechs could get off the floor. She hissed, but stood down, though her fiery glare continued to be focused solely on them.

Jazz jumped up quickly, and then stooped to help Prowl lift the frame of Red Alert over his shoulder. Once comfortably adjusted, the tactician turned to the pair of fuming bots, both of whom continued to glare at him darkly.

"According to Red Alert, Blaster picked up a distress signal not long ago, originating from the _Ark. _It was attacked within the Black Expanse by a team of unidentified Decepticons, one with apparent viral capabilities."

"Someone was infected, then." Ironhide rumbled darkly. It wasn't a question, it was statement.

"Yes," Prowl said, then paused. He weighed the decision of whether or not to tell Ironhide _who _had been infected. Ultimately, the weapons specialist was going to find out, so withholding the information now was pointless. "The marksfemme for the team, Arcee, was infected. Being that she was once your apprentice, Optimus most likely believed that you would want to know of this incident immediately, as well as be present when the ship came in."

All pretence of anger instantly evaporated, replaced with cold confusion as he struggled to comprehend. "Arcee was-?"

"Infected? Yes."

"_Primus," _Chromia hissed. Through their sparkbond, she felt the cold silvers of dread run through Ironhide's spark. Her own needs for satisfaction forgotten, Chromia felt the same ice-cold fear that threaded through her bonded. The cooling fans that had been working furiously to keep her systems from melting became an icy draft through her suddenly hollow feeling frame. Similarly, Ironhide's famously thick armor now felt thinner than paint gloss.

Ironhide glared beseechingly at Prowl. "Are you _sure_ it was Arcee who was infected?" he asked, hoping beyond hope that his audio receptors were malfunctioning. His spark have a nasty lurch when Prowl nodded firmly.

"Yes, I am sure. There was no reason for Red Alert to lie about the identity of the infected individual, and it is unlikely the information pertaining to this would become convoluted in the span of time it took to get from the command center to here."

"_Slag." _

Both Ironhide and Chromia held a fondness in their sparks for the young femme.

It had been Chromia who'd trained Arcee when she'd first become an Autobot enlisted amongst the femme warriors. Having never had a youngling of her own, Chromia took to the young femme, looking after her as she grew accustomed to life as an Autobot. They even served together on the same infiltration team for a while.

Ironhide had stolen Arcee from Elita One's ranks the moment he saw the spark of sniper's talent in the femme. He took her in as one of his very own _few_ apprentices, training her relentlessly. She excelled under his intensive training, her sniper skills growing to rival that of even Bluestreak's extraordinary skills.

An apprentice to both old bots she may have been, but they'd developed a soft spot for her spitfire self, caring for her as Creators would for their Creation.

Jazz queried a glance at the burly black mech. "Ya might wanna head up now, Hide," he said quietly. "The _Ark_'ll be arrivin' any time now."

Chromia turned to the stunned mech at her side, reaching out for his arm. "Ironhide…"

He flinched from her touch, spinning around quickly. He left the corridor with little more than a hiss of hydraulics in his wake. Chromia watched him go with worried optics. She glanced back at the remaining mech, her optics darting between Prowl and Jazz.

"Go after him," Jazz offered. "We'll be righ' behind ya."

* * *

The damning crescendo of booming footfalls easily cut through Iacon's main hangar walls. Ratchet threw a disgruntled look over his shoulder towards the large, grey door behind him, and then turned back to shoot a glance up to Optimus.

"He's here," he deadpanned.

Optimus glanced toward the door as well, contemplating it as the thunderous stomping quickly drew near. "It sounds like Red Alert was able to relay to him all the available information," he said.

Ratchet sighed, shaking his head. "Much to our detriment," he replied. "We're the ones who will have to put up with him until the _Ark _arrives."

Elita One crossed her arms over her chassis. "Can you honestly blame him for his behaviour?"

Ratchet shot her a stubborn look. "Believe me; I can blame him for many things."

The femme rolled her optics. "He and Chromia were both mentors to Arcee when she was younger; they share a special bond with her. You'd have to be a sparkless glitch not to be able to see that they care for her."

"All I see is that he's causing more trouble then what we need at the moment. The damages Ultra Magnus detailed over his transmission concerning Arcee and Bumblebee were extensive, to say the least. I don't need that old loose cannon storming about with his plasma cannons charged while I try to repair the injured."

Optimus cocked his head to the side, staring down inquiringly at the medic. He broke into the conversation before his sparkmate responded. "And what would you have me do? Confine him to quarters, or perhaps lock him up in the brig?"

Ratchet huffed. "That would be a great help, actually."

"To you, maybe," Optimus intoned amusedly. "But the damages he would cause in the brig would be a lot of trouble for me to deal with."

The medic sniffed testily. "A fair trade."

Elita shook her head in annoyance. "_Mechs," _she breathed incredulously. "This is why I command femmes instead."

With an ominous hiss, the hangar doors opened wide to admit the rigid, burly form of Iacon's weapons specialist. His frame was heaving, fans whining, hydraulics hissing, as he prowled into the room like a self-contained storm about to explode. His optics locked on the Supreme Commander's as he came to stand before Optimus, chassis thrust out, head held up, optics burning.

Elita and Ratchet drew back collectively as they felt electricity pulse through the air between the two mechs standing off.

"_Where are they?"_ Ironhide demanded. _"Where is Arcee?"_

Optimus observed his old friend carefully. "The _Ark _is still a ways out. It'll be at least a little under a joor before they arrive."

Ironhide's frame trembled as he processed the information. "Dammit, Optimus, that's too long! Who knows what damage the virus could do to her while we just stand here waiting for them to arrive!"

"This is the most we _can_ do, Ironhide." Optimus said calmly. "The Protectobots have already intercepted the ship; they are flying it as fast as low altitudes will permit to get it here."

"Frag it! _I_ should be out there retrieving the ship, or hunting down the glitching little virus-fraggers that did this! Not standing around waiting! Why didn't you send me out with the retrieval team- she's my apprentice, I should be out there!"

Optimus leaned down so as to loom over the compact frame of Ironhide. His faceplates contorted into mild frown. "If you hadn't been aware of it, Ironhide, you and Chromia had been _indisposed_ at the time we received Ultra Magnus's distress signal; we couldn't get a hold of you right away."

The hangar doors hissed opened once more, admitting Chromia first, who made a beeline for Elita One, closely followed by Jazz, Prowl, and the offline Red Alert, who came to stand by Ratchet to watch the one-sided shouting match as Ironhide fumed at the calmly responding Optimus.

Ratchet gave Red Alert a wary look. "What happened to him?" he grouched.

"Too much excitement for one orn," Jazz replied, patting Red Alert's limply dangling frame. "Poor mech had a meltdown."

Ratchet snorted. "Well, there's nothing I can do for him now- have Inferno take him back to his quarters. He'll be fine in a few joors; this wouldn't be the first time he's had a meltdown."

Chromia's optics darted back and forth between her bonded and Optimus for a few astroseconds, deeming the chance of butting in to be nil. Instead, she turned to Elita and fixed her with a hard stare. "Tell me exactly what's going on, right now."

"Just don't shoot me," Elita replied tiredly, shaking her head sadly as she replayed every bit of information she was privy to.

The growing group of Autobots in the hangar were joined shortly after by four more mechs and a single femme; the summoned Inferno with the smirking Firestar trotting along at his side, both of whom quickly relieved Prowl of his burden and left with Red Alert slung between the two of them; a bulky green mech known as Hoist; the familiar, friendly white mech Wheeljack, and perched on the engineer's shoulder was the copper-red frame of the microbot scientist known as Perceptor.

Optimus sighed as his audios began to ring from Ironhide's loud bellowing. "I know this is difficult for you, Ironhide, as it is with many of us, but you will have to try to calm down or I _will_ confine you to quarters-."

Wheeljack sidled up to Ratchet's side, close enough so that his passenger could lean forward and speak comfortably with the medic.

"The surgical bay has been prepared exactly as you have specified," Perceptor informed.

Ratchet cast the scientist a quick glance before returning his attention back to Optimus and Ironhide. "And the med bay?"

Filaments in Perceptor's large, domed oval optics rearranged quickly as he focused his gaze on the CMO. "Patients in the medical bay whose afflictions were not detrimental to their functioning capacity were relocated to their own quarters; those in the Intensive Care Unit have been moved so that the forthcoming proceedings will not be impeded by their presence."

"We also set up two of the CR chambers, in case they're needed," Wheeljack intoned. "An' I ordered Tungsten ta stay behind ta gather up all the needed temp platin' an' tools that we're gonna need fer this."

"Good," Ratchet replied shortly, nodding. "By the sounds of things, those CR chambers most likely _will_ be needed- if not by Arcee or Bumblebee, then by whomever Ironhide chooses to shoot."

Ironhide continued to rage at Optimus, despite the effort his sparkmate was putting in to calm him down. He could feel her aggravation mounting as he continued to blatantly ignore her, but paid little heed to it. "I don't care if you shut me up in my damn room or shove me in the brig, I'll blast my way out, Prime! You should be sending out teams to go after the 'Cons that did this!"

"You know better than that, Ironhide. I can't just send troops out on a mission of blind revenge. It would be nothing short of a disaster. What we need to do is examine the _Ark _to see if we can glean any information about the attackers from anything they left behind," Optimus replied calmly. Ironhide's internals revved angrily, seething on the spot. "You need to _calm down_; you're not thinking clearly right now."

Ironhide let out something that sounded like a mild roar. "I AM THINKING CLEARLY!"

Jazz leaned toward Prowl, a smirk quirking his faceplate. "If this is him thinkin' clearly, Ah don't wanna see him when he's glitchin'."

Prowl shot him a look. "Mute it, Jazz. This is hardly the time."

Chromia growled as another attempt at trying to calm her bonded was thrown back at her sharply. Elita laid a hand on her second in command's arm, but she shrugged it off quickly. "_That fragging aft_! Does he honestly think that he's the only one who cares for Arcee?" she hissed, glaring daggers at the back of her sparkmate's head.

"Chromia, please, try to calm down," Elita reasoned, parroting her sparkmate as he struggled to do the same with Ironhide.

A spasm crossed Chromia's faceplate, her processors nearly frying from the request. Calming down was _not_ her speciality! Not to mention her bond with Ironhide had become a volatile loop as their foul moods circulated through each other, accumulating steadily to explosive levels. "Elita, look, I know what you're trying to do, but _don't. Don't _tell me to 'calm down' or I swear to Primus, I will shoot you. I have put up with Ironhide messing with me in the firing range, Jazz and those other afts interrupting us, and now this slag with the _Ark _and Arcee; I am astroseconds away from having a meltdown! Next bot to tell me to _calm_ _down_ will be shot on site!"

"Chromia…" For the first time, Elita truly took in the condition her friend was in, from the roughed up appearance of her paintjob to the heaving whine of her internals as they worked at maximum stress levels. She was _really_ worked up.

Suddenly, Optimus jerked up straight, his internal comms being connected to by Blaster. Ironhide cut off mid-rant to glare expectantly at the mech.

"_Good news, Boss Bot, the _Ark _is finally within visual range; it'll be docking in Iacon in a matter of breems," _The microbot transmitted. _"First Aid is requesting that Ratchet be ready for their arrival, though; Bee's been roughed up pretty bad, and Arcee's in critical condition." _

"_I'll let him know, Blaster. Thank you for the update." _

"_No problem, Boss Bot. Just promise me that lil' Bee and 'em will be alight."_

"_I-." _Optimus stopped short, glancing at the tense medic; the expression on the CMO's faceplate was not encouraging. _"Ratchet and his medical team will do their best," _he transmitted lamely.

Blaster was silent for a few moments; obviously he caught on to Optimus's lack of promise. Finally, he responded. _"I'll hold ya to that, Prime- Bee's a good little buddy of mine, I don't want ta see him going out like this." _

The comms link cut off shortly afterward, leaving Optimus at the center of attention as nine curious Autobots stared at him relentlessly, waiting for him to divulge any sort of information pertaining to the _Ark_.

Prime sighed tiredly. "The Ark should be within visual range now," he announced, watching as every head swung in unison towards the gaping hole of the opened hangar, their optics searching the darkening sky for any sign of the ship. "Ratchet, First Aid asks that you be prepared for the moment they land; Bumblebee and Arcee will both require immediate attention."

Ratchet nodded stonily. "Understood," he replied.

Perceptor stood up from his perch on Wheeljack's shoulder, his optics rapidly dilating to give him the best resolution of the darkening evening sky. It was there, barely more than a dark spot on the horizon; the _Ark _was coming home.

"I see it," he announced, loud enough for the assembled group to hear. "Just above the horizon; at its estimated rate of speed, it will be here in approximately 15.3 breems."

True to Perceptor's estimate, the Ark took exactly 15.3 breems to cross the sky from the far off horizon to the maw of Iacon's hangar. The time was spent in utter silence between the Autobots, none daring to break the tension.

The deep hum of the huge engines vibrated the air as the ship approached rapidly, flying at the maximum speed possible for low altitude flight of a large vessel. Anxiousness fluttered in the assembled Autobots as they watched its approach, tracking the ship's every movement with sharp optics.

"_Please clear the Main Hangar area for safe docking procedures," _instructed an automated voice over the comms.

The instruction went unheeded by the ten observing bots as they stood transfixed to sight of the _Ark_. Without even realizing it, they were slowly being buffered to the back of the room as bots and drones came streaming into the area to help direct the ship for proper docking procedures. Docking arms deployed from long panels in the walls, outstretched to received the ship and safely bring it in. Bright guidance lights and sensor arrays shone to life, creating a multi-spectrum glow in the room meant to guide the ship in without running it into the walls.

Jazz whistled as he stared up at the smooth underside of the _Ark_. "Now _that's _a ship," he commented quietly. Even in its compacted state, the _Ark_ had definite style.

Hoist's sharp optics tracked the long scratch marks that marred the ventral plating of the _Ark, _catching the obvious deformations around the hatch denoting to obvious forced entry. He elbowed Wheeljack and pointed to the scars in the haul. The engineer scanned them carefully and nodded; they were just superficial wounds, they could assign colleagues to repair the damages, but it was still disturbing to see that some Primus forsaken 'Con was able to pierce the armour despite all the work put into strengthening it.

Ironhide growled as he watched the reverse thrusters engage, slowing the _Ark_'s progress to the mere crawl. Somewhere on that ship, Bumblebee was severely hurt and Arcee was dying.

Next to him, Chromia darted out from the ranks, running for the docking ship. "Arcee! Arcee!" she screamed, stumbling around skittering drones. Her spark was pulsing wildly in her sparkcase, beating harshly against the insides of her chassis. Fear had finally overcome what little sense she had left; Arcee was as good her youngling as anyone else's and she was damn set on making sure she was okay!

"Someone grab her!" Prowl barked over the loud din.

Ironhide was startled by the cold punch of fear flooding through his spark; Chromia wasn't holding back as she reached out for him, utterly terrified. All this time, she's been trying to reach out to him, to help him, pushing back her own mounting concerns for Arcee so that she could help him. But now she wasn't bothering holding back anymore. He was nearly overwhelmed.

"Chromia! Chromia get back here!" Elita shouted. She was ignored.

The femme stumbled again, this time from the sudden overload of feedback coming from Ironhide. It was his sudden outpouring of concern for her, of open love without the heat of anger that had her tripping over her feet. A pair of strong arms shot out of no where, wrapping firmly around her mid-section before she face-planted on the floor. Her optics dropped to the thick, black arms clutching her tightly.

"Ironhide- she's in there," Chromia moaned painfully, struggling against her restraints. "We have to help her!"

"_I know_. I know we have to help her, but the ship isn't docked yet. Wait until it's docked and then we'll help her," he rumbled into her audio receptors. His frame was trembling from the effort of not running for the ship; his spark was screaming for him to just rip into the _Ark _to get to Bee and Arcee.

A loud, long groan echoed through the gargantuan hangar as the _Ark _shut down, settling heavily against the deployed supports. Moments later, there was a smooth hiss, and then the ventral hatch detached crookedly from the underside, falling fast with a disturbing crash to the floor.

Chromia's hands clutched tightly to Ironhide's arms as he, in turn, held a vice like grip on her frame. He started forward out of instinct, but was held back by a firm hand gripping his shoulder tightly. Optimus loomed above him, issuing a warning stare clearly saying '_don't get in the way_'.

Blades was the first to appear in the mouth of the hatch, taking to the air in his alt mode and swooping low into the assembled crowd. "Move it! Get out the way! Dying Autobots coming through! MOVE YOUR AFTS!" he yelled, cutting a wide berth from the ship the exit. Several too-slow drones got thrown out of the way.

Two hovering berths came next, their burdens consisting of two offline bots, one yellow, the other magenta, each tended to by a pair of franticly moving mechs. As they raced down the ramp, First Aid's voice cut like a knife through the room.

"Ratchet! Ratchet, we need your help here-!" he yelled desperately. His anti-viral firewalls were being thrown out of the way like they were nothing; whatever was rampaging in Arcee was big, mean, and ugly.

Ratchet met them mid-way on the ramp, followed closely by Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Hoist. Perfectly choreographed, the mechs instantly divided themselves; Hoist and Wheeljack switched to the berth that Bumblebee laid on, their hands diving into the fray as Groove and Streetwise continued to try to rebuild Bumblebee's compromised infrastructure. Ratchet grabbed Perceptor and threw the microbot onto Arcee's hovering berth, the medic and scientist both taking over as First Aid and Hot Spot were shoved to the side.

"I need her vitals NOW!" Ratchet roared, scanning her rapidly. Perceptor was already at her head, accessing her directly through her cranial processing unit so as to quickly assess the virus and build a proper firewall.

First Aid ran at the berth's left side, working furiously to solder together two severed neural wires. "She's lost a lot of energon!" he shouted. "She'll need a transfusion of medical-issue D-class low-grade _stat_; using any higher energy level will shut down her systems! Her right arm has been severed and is unaccounted for; the energon lines have been clamped, but possible pollutants have already entered her circulation! Infrastructure has been compromised! Transformational circuitry; compromised! Neural circuitry; compromised! Weaponry; compromised! An unknown Alpha-class virus has entered her systems through her head, neck column, chassis, and interface port; it has already accessed her vital software and has begun corrupting all existing programming- she's gone into emergency stasis lock!"

"Dammit, we have to get her into surgery before her frame collapses!" Ratchet roared. "Perceptor, do you have a lock on the virus!? Can you isolate it?!"

"No, the infection has spread too far for conventional means of isolation! I am trying several different methods to try and back it into a disposal program, but all attempts are failing!" The scientist shouted back. His optics were shuttered as he spoke, long black cables webbed between his frame and Arcee's, his spindly hands moving deftly without sight to their correct destinations in her exposed processing motherboards.

Wheeljack shouted over his shoulder at the CMO. "Bee's gonna need B-class low-grade an' a major recalibration of his systems- his readings are all over the place! His harmonics are screwed like nothin' I've ever seen before- the Expanse fragged him up good! Weaponry's been slagged too! He's a mess!"

"Ultra Magnus did what he could for the both of them," Streetwise informed, even as his hands flashed between supports and hydraulics in Bee's frame. "He managed to staunch the majority of Arcee's energon loss, but there was nothing to do for the virus. He was forced to place Bumblebee in stasis lock after the mech became unmanageable shortly after Arcee went out- fried neural circuitry made him delusional."

As they sped past Ironhide and Chromia, the pair leapt to their feet and ran after the mechs. The weapons specialist was only able to catch a brief glance of Bumblebee as they ran by; the poor minibot looked scrapped. Arcee, on the other hand, had been completely obscured from view.

"Ironhide-!" Optimus tried to recall the warrior, but the black mech was already to the door.

"Forget it, Prime! I'm not leaving those two!" he roared with damning finality in his voice. "I raised and trained Bee-!"

"And Arcee is as good as ours!" Chromia shouted. She took hold of her bonded's hand and yanked him hard into the corridor to follow after the racing medical pandemonium.

Jazz started to take off after them, but Prowl reached out to take his arm. "And where are you going?" he demanded.

Jazz shot the tactician an incredulous look. "Bee's like a lil' brother ta me," he said quickly. His head jerked in the direction of the door. "Ah'm wit' the old bots; I'm not gonna leave 'im. Ya can come, or ya can stand there lookin' like an aft, but ya ain't holdin' me back." He shook his arm from Prowl's grip and raced out.

Prowl glanced to Optimus, waiting to see what the commander would do. Prime's focus was still on the Ark where Ultra Magnus was slowly making his way down the ramp. Though unharmed, Ultra Magnus looked worse for wear in ways that went beyond the physical.

"Sir?" Prowl prompted.

"Go on with Jazz, Prowl." Optimus said quietly. "I'll be along shortly."

The tactician nodded resolutely and left.

* * *

"Remove the armor- we need to get at the damaged internals!" Ratchet yelled.

"We can't- her armor is the only thing keeping her frame from collapsing- whatever attacked her crushed her internal supports!" First Aid shouted from across the surgical berth. The blaring white light above them illuminated the surgical bay in a macabre picture of splattered energon, flashing tools, and scraps of cut away circuitry and armor.

"Then weld in ulterior supports so that we CAN get the armor off!" Ratchet roared. He was working furiously in her opened chest cavity, welding together wildly misfiring circuit. The 'Con that managed to sheer off her arm had also accomplished taking half her internal wiring as well, stripping her bare from the inside out. "And get me that new wiring! What she's got left in here isn't worth slag!"

A horrible screeching sound filled the surgical bay as Wheeljack started in on Bumblebee's armor from across the bay. He was wielding a dual blade circular saw, similar to the one Ratchet was equipped with, and was proceeding to strip away the armor from Bumblebee's back so as to get to the dislocated gears and jarred hydraulics underneath. A gush of glowing energon spurted from the minibot as a piece of armor previously damming a severed energon line was torn free, allowing for the built up energon to spray out, painting Wheeljack's front in gore.

Hoist was ready with several energon clamps to stop the rapid bleeding and suction tubes to clean away the excess energon. "Tungsten, we need that B-class energon NOW!" he demanded.

Wheeljack's little drone jumped at the order, racing for the on-hand stores it collected for the surgeries and grabbing the appropriate cube.

Suddenly, a piercing cry erupted from Arcee's vocal processor. Her frame snapped up from the berth, writhing wildly. Perceptor reacted first, grabbing hold of her head and dragging it down to lay her flat to the berth. "I've been able to stave the virus away from her core processing unit!" he yelled as her frame was strapped down by Ratchet and First Aid. "Her neural relays reinitiated on their own!"

"At least that's _some_ good news!" Ratchet hissed.

"Not unless I can erect a firewall to guard her synapses, it's not," Perceptor replied quickly. "At least her memory banks and major personality programming were safe while she was offline and the files were inactive, but while she's online like this there's a chance the virus will carry over!"

"We can't sedate her either, that would weaken whatever defences she has left!" First Aid piped in.

Ratchet finished with the installation of temporary supports in her chassis, switching instantly to striping the femme of her energon spattered armor. "We need more time! Her frame needs to be repaired before it collapses on her spark! Her spark casing won't be enough to withstand the weight-!"

"But we still need to deal with the virus!" Perceptor cut in.

A minor explosion went off near Bumblebee's berth, shaking the surgical bay.

"WHAT IN THE PIT WAS THAT!?" Ratchet roared.

Wheeljack started, spinning to face Ratchet with a wild expression. "I didn't do it!" he shouted automatically.

"I recalibrated Bee's missiles, Ratch'," Hoist shouted, now switching to work on the exposed gears in Bumblebee's right arm to realign his solar agitator. "They went off accidentally."

"See that it doesn't happen again!" Ratchet hissed. "We can't afford any stupid mistakes!"

Wheeljack and Hoist nodded quickly, returning to the scout. The engineer kept the file containing Bumblebee's schematics open as he continued to cut away at what remained of the minibot's back plating, removing Bee's retracted battle mask, as well as his cranial plating to get to the fried neural relays underneath. A minor fountain of steam issued from within the exposed unit, heat from overworked systems creating distortions in the air. Wheeljack flinched away from the damage- his field medic's chip only went so far; he wouldn't be able to deal Bumblebee's damaged processors.

"Ratchet, we need you over here!" the engineer called. "Bee's motherboards have overheated; his cooling fans failed to engage- it looks like several neural wires have fused!"

The CMO went rigid, his processor working madly to keep up with the mounds of critical information that kept pouring in. "Give me an astrosecond 'Jack!" He directed his gaze to Perceptor. "You said you pushed the virus out of Arcee's CPU, right?" he demanded.

"Yes, but everything beyond that is infected! And I cannot guarantee that her processing unit is completely uncorrupted-!"

"I don't care, we need to take the chance or we'll lose her; her CPU needs to be completely isolated from any further chance of contamination-!"

First Aid jerked up from his work soldering temp plating to Arcee's punctured frame. "You can't possibly be suggesting we-!"

"Remove her core processing unit!" Ratchet ordered. "Immediately!"

"Have you _lost_ it?!" First Aid roared. "She's in critical condition- do you WANT to kill her!"

"There's no time to argue! Remove it and place it on support- at least if the CPU is out of her frame it can't be infected!"

"And what about the rest of her systems- the ones that ARE infected?!" First Aid demanded.

Ratchet growled. "Purge them. Everything beyond the core programming is expendable at this point!"

"You can't be serious!"

Ratchet rounded on the younger mech, taking hold of him by the front of his armor and levelling him with a manic glare. "Do as I say or I'll dismantle you! Remove the CPU, purge her systems, and then stick her in a damned CR chamber! Wheeljack will be able to do the rest of the reconstruction. So I make my self clear?!""

"Yes sir!" First Aid shouted, finding himself released and thrust back into his work.

"'Jack, come switch places with me- while First Aid and Perceptor work on her CPU, you can work on her frame!" Ratchet barked. "I'll take Bumblebee!"

"Got'cha!" The engineer spun away from the scout and met the medic half way across the bay. They stood for mere moments in front of each other, interfacing for a single astrosecond to exchange Arcee's and Bumblebee's schematics before sliding away from each other to head for their respective patients.

* * *

In the windowed observatory above Surgical Bay 3, Ironhide watched the proceedings with a critical optic. Chromia had pressed herself to the crystalline window, searching wildly through the mess of mechs down in the bay for any sign that Arcee was going to be alright. The tension between them had mounted to an unbearable height, neither of them able to glance at the other without the sudden urge to yell, shoot, or cry.

Jazz had taken to pacing the breadth of the room unceasingly; his was visor down so that none could see the worry clouding his optics. Prowl sat near the back of the observatory, switching smoothly from watching the proceedings below to letting his optics trail after the rigidly pacing Jazz. The saboteur may have thought he was hiding his concern from everyone by using his visor, but his pacing was making it blatantly obvious how very worried he was.

Optimus, Ultra Magnus, and Elita had taken up positions at the other end of the windows, with Prime and the Femme Commander silently listening as Magnus continued to whisper his guilt.

"_It's my fault, Prime… I shouldn't have let Bumblebee wander so far from the ship… I should have told him to stay close… I should have had the defences engaged… shouldn't have flown so low… this is my fault. I'm sorry…" _

Optimus leaned in close to his friend's audio receptors. "It is no one's fault but the Decepticons' that attacked. You are not at fault for this incident," he said firmly. "Stop blaming yourself, old friend." But his words fell upon deaf audio receptors as the base commander continued to watch Bumblebee and Arcee be stripped down to there bare essentials.

Those six bots were not the only ones in the room though. As they'd raced through the halls of Iacon to the Medical Wing, they'd picked up curious stragglers as well as frantic bots who knew what was going on. Now there was a small gathering of mechs and femmes milling about near the windows, some taking up the few chairs the room held.

The four other Protectobots of First Aid's team watched diligently as their team mate worked furiously to extract Arcee's CPU. They'd gathered in a tight knit group before the window, staring unceasingly down at their fellow Protectobot as he worked relentlessly to save another spark from being extinguished.

Moonracer whimpered fearfully as she watched the dual surgeries, her tiny fingers digging into Powerglide's wings as she hid partially behind him. Powerglide stood helplessly as the femme continued to whine pathetically behind him. He would've have taken her into his arms to comfort her, but was afraid that in his anxiety he'd accidentally crush her.

Inferno and Firestar had returned from dropping Red Alert off, and now they stood staring down into the surgical bay with fire in their optics. Like the night Firestar had sat with Elita One in the Femme Commander's quarters, she looked like a trapped animal. Inferno stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, their grip slowly denting her armor in.

Mirage had come from duty to watch over his scout, nigh-invisible in the great shadows of Prime and Magnus. He watched on with unflinching dedication, though it tore his spark to see the once jovial Bumblebee reduced to a stripped down frame and an amalgamation of barely working parts.

Bluestreak babbled nervously to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe as the three of them sat tensely in their seats. None of them had the courage to look over the ledge of the window. Bluestreak's mental images of what was going on were enough to churn his tanks, while the twins did not think they could bare the image of their beloved bad-tempered medic struggling to save their even more beloved Bumblebee.

As the sharpshooter approached a new record for non-stop chatter (he'd been going for about four joors straight), Sunstreaker snapped. The golden mech shot up from his seat and loomed over the blue and light-grey mech with a menacing expression marring his faceplate.

"For Primus' sake, mute it! Just _mute it_, Bluestreak! MUTE! IT! If I hear one more fragging word out of you, I'm going to rip your vocals out! I do not want to hear about what happened in Nebula One last night; I don't care if you think the division of organic cells is fascinating; I don't give a flying frag which mech is with whom!"

Sideswipe was up at his twin's side in astroseconds, trying valiantly to calm him down. "Sunny! Sunny, stop terrorizing Bluestreak! He's just nervous- we all are-." But his efforts were rewarded with a quick punch to the chassis to dislodge him.

"Don't you get it!?" Sunstreaker roared, blind to the fact that he had attracted all attention in the room. "_Bumblebee _and _Arcee _are down there in Primus only knows what kind of condition! Ratchet is the best medic there is- he could disassemble me an' Sides in a matter of astroseconds, and yet he's been down there for joors! That's NOT a good sign! If no one else is willing to put two and two together, than I will! Bumblebee and Arcee are probably not going to-!"

**BANG!**

Supercharged plasma roared over Sunstreaker's head, searing his spotless paint right off his armor, yet even as small flakes of paint drifted before his optics, the melee warrior failed to make a sound. His optics were solely focused on the charged plasma cannon that was now targeting his chassis.

Ironhide regarded the golden twin with cold fury; there was no longer fire in his optics, nor did the heat of flaming pit-inspired anger rise in him. He was burnt out to the embers of his patience, black coals of pure animosity simmering darkly in his optics.

"They **are **going to make it," he growled darkly.

Chromia took up position next to her sparkmate, rifle charged. "Anyone who says differently can eat plasma."

It was silent was a very long time afterwards in the observatory.

Moonracer gasped, pointing wildly down at the surgical bay. "Something's happening!" she shouted.

As a collective entity, every Autobot rushed for the crystalline windows to observe what Moonracer was pointing at. They caught sight of First Aid rushing Arcee's berth out, heading for the ICU, followed closely by Perceptor, who was carrying the large support container that housed Arcee's CPU to keeping it running even though it was detached from her frame. Hoist followed on their heels with Bumblebee, Tungsten set up at the head of the berth holding up several wires that ran from Bee's head to a monitoring machine next to the drone.

Ratchet was left in the bay with Wheeljack, who patted the sagging CMO solemnly on the back. He took a deep drag through his intakes, and then let it rush out through his vents. A comm. link crackled to life within the observatory.

"_I've done all that I can for them…" _Ratchet announced tiredly. His frame was smeared with the drying blue remnants of his patients' energon. _"Bumblebee is in stable condition now, but he will require several more recalibrations before he's functioning properly again- the ultrasonic frequencies within the Expanse corrupted a lot of his systems." _

"What about Arcee, Ratchet?" Chromia asked quietly. "How is she?"

At this, Ratchet's optics dropped to the floor. _"We removed her core processing unit to prevent it from being infected, and Wheeljack will be able to reconstruct her arm and other parts while she's in the CR chamber, but when we tried to purge the virus from her other systems we… failed. The purge only slowed it down. It's too embedded now to remove." _

"Dammit!" Ironhide roared, his fist slamming into the crystalline windows, crisscrossing them with fine spider web cracks.

Ratchet's optics gazed up painfully at the Autobots above him, feeling like he had been put on display for all them to see. He felt trapped, with no where else to go. He'd failed. _"I've done all I can…" _he said quietly; a poor attempt at trying to defend himself against a jury of unrelenting stares.

Optimus placed a hand against the cracked window, gazing down at the CMO with his unfathomably blue optics shining sadly. "That's all we could ask for…" he replied, though the words felt terribly inadequate.

"No it isn't," Ironhide rumbled, gathering his distraught sparkmate to his chassis. She struggled against him, making desperate choking sounds as the agony of misery overpowered her spark. The virus was still in Arcee's systems. There was no way of getting rid of it now. It was only a matter of time until she…

He made his way towards the door, intent on marching down to the ICU to see Bumblebee and Arcee. He paused in the doorway, turning back to fix the room with a hard, indecipherable stare.

"We could have asked him to save her." And then he left.


	12. Of Optimus and Elita III

This chapter is a whole lot less intense than the last one. It's kind of odd, but I really, really, REALLY wanted to update for the New Years, so here's the chapter! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

_Virus, Trojan, and Worm- _Decepticon OC's of mine. I'll dedicate the next chapter to anyone who tells what their three names have in common! (It's really, really easy!)

_Bumblebee's origin- _The very brief moment where Bumblebee's actual origins is mentioned is not an idea of my own but borrowed from **Karategal's** "Youngling". She owns the idea and full credit goes to her completely! And anyone who hasn't read her story, do it now, because it is an amazing piece of work!

_Concerning Mirage- _I've seen the movie; I know who's on the _Ark. _Don't flame me or freak out, I know what I'm doing (I hope).

**Thank You Corner** is brought to you by "Reviewers"- some of the kindest people out there. Major thanks goes to **Bluebird** **Soaring, Demon's rose, JessyJazz, Violet Light, VAwitch, **and** Litahatchee. **All of you are so very wonderful, you have no idea. I absolutely loved every single one of your reviews. You made me smile and glow for hours afterwards with all your kind words!

This chapter totally belongs to **Litahatchee**, who blew me away with her first review- and then reviewed me again anonymously when she forgot something. **Litahatchee**, if you're reading this, you completely knocked my socks off with your reviews, you deserve this chapter!

* * *

"Chromia, you can't stay here forever," Elita said gently.

"Watch me."

"Don't be obtuse," Elita warned, sighing tiredly.

"I'm not leaving her," Chromia retorted stubbornly. She remained where she sat, on the floor next to the CR chamber that held Arcee. Her optics turned for only an astrosecond to glance at the small frame, before darting away when she caught sight of the dim optics and open, hollowed cranial cavity. Next to the CR chamber, on the opposite side of where Chromia sat, the large, grey life-support container Perceptor had been carrying hummed gently as it fed the appropriate electrical currents into Arcee's disembodied CPU to keep it functional.

"You're going to have to leave eventually to recharge," the Femme Commander pointed out.

"I'll recharge in the med bay, then," Chromia grumbled. "But I'm not leaving her until she comes back onli-," instantly she cut herself off. Her optics dimmed sadly.

"'Until she comes back online?' Is that what you meant?" Elita murmured in a soft voice. "You know very well that that isn't possible. Her processor is on life-support in that container over there, it's not even in her frame right now. Arcee's not coming back online until her processor is placed back in her frame-."

Chromia barked a hard, derisive laugh. "You don't think I know that?" she hissed. "She's not coming back online until her CPU is returned, but her CPU can't be returned until the virus is purged, and the virus can't be purged because it's too embedded in her systems!"

Elita crouched down her friend's level, peering at her through the eerie wavering light cast by the glowing chamber. "If you know that already, why do you remain here? You've been here for joors, nearly the whole night…"

"Moral support," the dusky-blue femme replied shortly. In the odd mix of light and shadow, her dulled armor appeared grey. "Before things get too hopeless."

"You don't honestly believe that it's hopeless, do you?" Elita asked sadly. Chromia's optics flicked up only to meet her gaze with sorrowful blue depths. "Ratchet, Perceptor, First Aid; they're all doing what they can to come up with an antivirus. You can't think to give up hope now-"

Chromia gave an anguished cry, her fists pounding into the floor. "I don't know what to think anymore!" she screamed. The suddenness with which she reacted caused Elita to stumble back in surprise, landing gracelessly on her back.

"Every bot on this damn base seems to have given up hope on her! They're all acting as if she's already dead and Bumblebee is about to follow her into the Matrix!" the distraught femme continued. "They're martyring them!"

The few medical drones that milled about the ICU looking after the critical patients' needs tensed as their sensors picked up on Chromia's shouts, quickly determining if it was one of their own charges and if they should alert the medic on duty. Once they realized Chromia was not one of theirs, they mindlessly went back to their caretaking.

"That's not true! By Primus, Chromia, that's not true!" Elita shouted, horrified by the insinuation. "How can you possibly say such a thing?"

"Because it _is_ true! Don't deny it- you're doing it too!" Chromia accused scathingly. "Every bot in this damn base is acting as these two are in the scrap heap already! But they're still here; they're still online! We've been at war for Primus only knows how many vorns, we've seen injuries like these; we should all be used to things like this!" Her hands came up to smother her faceplate, covering her dull, tired optics. "Why-?! Why is this so different for everyone that it stops functions in the base completely?!"

Elita finally gathered herself off the floor, creeping towards her friend to lay a gentle hand on Chromia's trembling arm. "Because this hits us all where the spark is," she said. "Arcee was amongst us Autobots since she was fresh out of the Youth Sectors, we all know her, raised her; we've known Bumblebee since the orn Optimus brought him in to Iacon, all of us here had a hand in raising him from a sparkling. Seeing those two down is like seeing our own younglings down." When Chromia snorted disbelievingly, Elita reminded her, "they do not belong solely to you and Ironhide."

A weak chuckle issued from Chromia, but faded into a choking sob of sorts as her gaze strayed back to Arcee. "Ironhide won't even look at her," she whispered. "He came in here with me but could barely look at her; he couldn't even _touch_ Bumblebee."

Elita glanced briefly over her shoulder to the nearby berth where Bumblebee's small, unmoving frame lay. He was a mottled mess of scratched yellow armor and dull grey temp plating, several low-grade drips set up from his prone form, spider webbed by numerous sensors meant to catch the flux in his condition. There was no mischievous light shining in the minibot's dark optics, no jaunty sound byte playing from him, no youthful aura of eagerness surrounding him; he was scarcely recognizable.

Elita could easily see why Ironhide would have a hard time reaching out to the broken scout; it felt like if you touched him, he would break. As for Arcee… it was hard enough to even _glance_ at her.

The Femme Commander reached out to tug her friend out of the tight curl she'd gone into, pulling the thicker, stronger femme to her chassis as if she were a youngling. "Ironhide is just… taking this badly," she whispered into Chromia's audio receptors.

A long sigh hissed from deep within Chromia's frame as she sagged in exhaustion in her friend's comforting embrace. "He takes everything badly," she murmured. "But he's shutting me out again, and it hurts."

"I'm sure he doesn't realize it-?"

"No, but it still hurts. I want him, but I can't _feel_ him."

"Why don't we go into the med bay together and you can confront him," Elita offered. "Optimus must be done with his little talk about the damages wrought in the observatory by now-."

"Don't bet on it." Chromia snorted, slowly being lulled by the warm, close presence of her friend in substitute of her sparkmate.

"Why not?"

"Look up."

Puzzled, Elita did as she was bid, glancing up, and then leaning a little to the left to be able see passed the berth in her way. On the far side of the room, opposite to where the two femmes sat, were the crystalline windows leading to the med bay. Beyond them revealed the image of a clearly incensed weapons specialist having yet another one-sided shouting match with the silently frustrated Prime.

"…I see what you mean," she sighed. "Perhaps we can go to them _after_ your sparkmate is done shouting himself into a meltdown."

"No. I already told you, Elita," Chromia murmured, her optics drawn back up to Arcee's listless frame, "I'm not leaving her. _I_ _can't_."

* * *

Much unlike the solemn atmosphere that had accumulated in the ICU, the med bay itself had taken on an air of forthright hostility. You could cut the tension with a laser scalpel.

It was Ratchet that finally snapped under the pressure, intervening between Ironhide and Optimus only to give the black mech a hard shove back, successfully silencing him. First Aid, Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Hoist understandably went rigid in anticipation for the stand off they knew was coming. Optimus took on a spectator's position, backing away slowly without making any sudden moves.

"I've had just about enough of you!" the medic barked. "We've all heard this before; we all know you want to go out there and fight; we all know what answer to you got from Prime the first time you asked! The answer STILL hasn't changed! Get that through your thick head! You're not going anywhere just yet! You're not fighting anyone right now! So just sit down, mute it, and for the love of Primus- CALM DOWN!"

Ironhide's dark optics narrowed dangerously on the medic. "Easy for you to say," he hissed. "You're job is done, ain't it? You said it yourself; there's nothing more you can do for Arcee. But just because you've already tossed her to the slag heap doesn't mean I have to! I'm going to go out and find the little pit-spawn that did this and I'm going to melt 'em down for slag!"

For a moment it looked as if Ratchet had absolutely frozen in the face of Ironhide's words, and then, like a storm, the mech gave a rumbling growl like thunder, lashing out quicker than any bot could imagine. Ironhide was shoved back with enough force that he stumbled, colliding heavily with the nearest berth behind him.

There was a yellow blur, a gravelled snarl, and suddenly Ratchet was on him. The medic's fists grasped the thick metal of the weapons specialist's chassis and he shook him violently.

"Are you completely deluded?!"

"Get off me, you warped medic!"

"How **DARE** you accuse me of laying down and _letting_ one of my patients die! I've done my best for both Bumblebee and Arcee and you know it!"

Ironhide snarled, throwing Ratchet off. "WELL YOUR BEST ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH ANYMORE!" His processors were in a whirlwind now. There was no more clear thought; all he wanted now was to hurt Ratchet! He wanted to inflict pain; as much pain as he was feeling right now! Ratchet _should_ have fixed her! He'd fixed everyone else! So why couldn't he have just fixed Arcee too!

"You better take that back if you know what's good for you, you slagger!" Ratchet demanded, deploying his circular saw.

"This quarrel is benefiting no one!" Perceptor interrupted loudly. "Stop this ridiculous posturing immediately before this escalates into something physical!" He waved from his perch on the counter, but his small stature made him easy to ignore.

"Ratchet, you're the CMO here! You know better than to start a fight in your own med bay!" First Aid called valiantly in hopes of getting through to his superior. "This is a place for repairs, not grudge matches!" He huffed in frustration as he too was ignored. He turned to Optimus with pleading optics. "_Do _something!" he cried.

Optimus nodded, reached out to the two mechs as they squared off, Ratchet's circular saw buzzing angrily in answer to the piercing whine of Ironhide's cannons. "Stop this, both of you. You are fully grown, mature officers- _not _a pair of squabbling younglings!" It was obvious that his words were falling on deaf audio receptors; neither mech showed signs of backing down from the imminent confrontation.

"-You know damn well that I am doing my best for her, as is everyone; it's the virus that is causing all the problems!"

"Is that what fragged you up, Ratch'?! The virus?!" Ironhide barked viciously. His logic circuits had long ago fried. He was working off of pure blind rage now. "You found something that you couldn't fix, so now you're just going to let her _die_?!"

"Damn you!" Just as it happened a few nights ago, a few licks of sparks issued from the medic's heaving vents as several circuits blew from the stress. He lunged for the other mech, saw outstretched.

Ironhide gathered himself for the brunt of the attack, ready to grapple with the charging medic in a mech-to-mech match.

As their frames neared for the titanic clash, Wheeljack's thick white frame came flying into Ratchet's peripherals, taking the medic down with an impressive tackle. They skidded gracelessly, hitting the crystalline windows with enough force to make them vibrate dangerously. Hoist and First Aid took the opportunity to leap onto Ironhide's back to wrestle him down.

"Ratch', please, c'mon! It's me! Wheelja-_Whoa_!" the engineer ducked, narrowly missing having his fin sliced off. Desperately he shook the irate medic. "Ya gotta calm down! Yer gonna hurt someone! Ratchet, please listen ta me fer once! Ironhide didn't mean what he said! He's not thinkin' clearly! Neither are you!"

"Stop trying to sweet talk the mech and knock him out already!" Hoist shouted as Ratchet's flailing foot connected with his head as he frantically tried to keep Ironhide pinned to the floor.

Optimus came to First Aid and Hoist's aid, using his considerable bulk to help pin his thrashing friend down. "Perceptor! Where are those sedatives?!" he shouted.

"Right here, sir!" came the reply. Running into view from around a berth, Perceptor rushed towards the fray with his thin arms full of several injectors, each carrying liberal amounts of a powerful sedative. "I will require for them to be rendered in at least moderate immobility if I am to administer the drugs!"

Wheeljack, having copious amounts of experience in trying to grapple with a feral Ratchet, expertly manoeuvred so that he could pin Ratchet's frame with his; arms held down by the wrists, legs locked with Wheeljack's twined around them. They still thrashed about on the floor, but the medic's resistance was dwindling.

"Do him quick, Percy! Do him quick!" Wheeljack shouted. "I'm gonna lose him soon if ya don't!"

"Quickly, Perceptor; Ratchet first! We can hold Ironhide down a little longer!" Optimus shouted, and then grunted as a thick black arm came loose and smacked him upside the head.

"Let me go, Prime! I swear it, let me go!" the enraged mech bellowed.

"Ironhide, I know you are having a hard time dealing with Bumblebee and Arcee's injuries, but overreacting like this helps no one!" Optimus tried to reason. His answer was only an angry bellow.

Thanks to the scientist's microbot frame, he was able to slip in close to the rolling myriad of yellow and white frames. Ratchet glared balefully at the approaching bot, but was forced to expose his neck column when Wheeljack disengaged his grip from one of the medic's wrists and forced his head back. Armor was forced aside by long, sharp fingers; there was a single, ice cold prick in an energon line, and then a feeling like warm fluid spread throughout his frame. Ratchet dropped heavily, completely rendered offline.

Wheeljack disentangled from his friend. "One down…" he sent a furtive glance towards Ironhide. "One ta go…"

As First Aid and Hoist tag teamed to hold down the mech's arms and legs, Optimus held his entire massive weight down on Ironhide's chassis, using both hands to wrench the livid mech's head back and shoving the appropriate armor out of the way.

Perceptor attacked with the first injector. Ironhide doubled his attack in return.

"No effect?!" First Aid squawked.

"Yeah there was; it made him angrier!" Hoist shouted back.

"Hit him again!" Optimus ordered.

Perceptor reacted with lightening quick reflexes, using a second injector on the exposed line. The weapons specialist roared in retaliation, bucking furiously; he showed no signs of weakness.

"This is getting us nowhere!" Optimus hissed. "Give him one last shot!"

"NO! These are lethal amounts we're dealing with!" First Aid cried. "We could kill him if we inject him with any more!"

"_He_ could kill _us_ if we _don't_ inject him with more!" Hoist yelled back.

"Wait! I got an idea!" Wheeljack shouted, scrambling across Ratchet's frame. He pried open a compartment on the mech's arm, procuring from it a small, circular device. Meant for only drastic situations, the little handheld apparatus was capable if delivering a localized, high-voltage shock to a bot's systems, overwhelming them and hopefully forcing them into stasis. Just the thing for an out-of-control mech who didn't feel like being knocked out the easy way.

He scrambled across the floor towards the fray, the Inducer in hand. Unfortunately, in his hurry, his feet tangled. Time seemed to slow as the other mechs looked up at the engineer's strangled cry of surprise, watching in horror as Wheeljack's white frame sailed through the air. It didn't take a genius to calculate the trajectory the engineer was headed in.

"_Oh Primus, no…"_ Hoist muttered.

With a deafening clash of metal against metal, Wheeljack's head connected squarely with Ironhide's. They hit so hard that sparks hissed from between them. Wheeljack's fins gave a single bright flash of surprise before he slid limply to the side. The device he had proudly procured from Ratchet fell uselessly from his slack hand.

Below the gaggle of struggling mechs, Ironhide's rigid frame suddenly lost all its tension. His optics crossed as he stared upward for an astrosecond, seemingly trying to get a look at the damage. Without warning, his titanic frame flopped back to the floor with a cold clatter of metal; he was utterly out cold.

Perceptor came around to Ironhide's head, scanning the mech carefully. "Certainly an unorthodox method," he concluded. "But highly effective."

Optimus moved from his position on Ironhide's broad chassis, reaching down to haul the unmoving mech up and on to a berth. "How long are they going to be out?" he asked slowly, optics trailing sluggishly from his weapons specialist to his CMO to his head engineer, all reduced to nothing more than limp piles of metal.

First Aid grunted as he hefted Ratchet's frame, Hoist taking Wheeljack. "I'd say Ratchet's not coming online until the end of the orn, at least," he said. "But the two head cases here will snap out of it any time."

Prime nodded slowly. "I see…" he murmured. "Thank you, First Aid."

* * *

Elita kept shooting furtive glances towards her sparkmate as he continued to shift uncomfortably in his seat. He'd gone the entire night and orn without a single breem of recharge, he hadn't even thought about engaging the subroutines since the moment the _Ark_ came in, and now, as night mounted on the horizon once again, he had called for the meeting to decide the fate of the Allspark mission and its yet to be decided crew.

"This could have waited," she muttered sharply to her bonded.

Optimus glanced down to where she sat on his left. "No, it could not."

"Not even for a breem of recharge?" She asked. "You need it."

"Not even for that."

"You're being stubborn!"

"As are you, Elita."

She sent a hiss of air through her vents. "Remind me again why you've called this meeting, Optimus?" she asked, treading the thin line between polite and condescending.

"We need to have the crew manifest decided as soon as possible so that in the event of an attack, or any sort of unforeseen circumstance, there will be no last-astrosecond scrambling to launch with an unprepared crew."

The Femme Commander relented, sitting back with her arms crossed across her chassis. "You have a point."

"I do try to have a point before I call a meeting," Optimus shrugged. "Some mechs don't appreciate it when I call them just to chat."

A bare smile perked her faceplate. "You could have at least given us a little more time to gather up our requests and recommendations from our troops. Do you know how much of a mad dash it was to collect some of these?" she gestured quickly to the small pile of data pads set out before her.

"I apologize," he replied quietly.

She rolled her optics in return. "Make it up to me later," she shot back in an even quieter voice just as the thick metal doors to the large conference room slid open, allowing for the wild din of the Command Center beyond to spill into the virtually silent room.

"Right on time, Prowl," Optimus said, greeting the tactician warmly.

The storm grey mech nodded in return, the door hissing shut behind him. Once more the conference room was blanketed in heavy silence. Prowl quickly took his designated seat two seats down on Prime's right, carefully un-subspacing several data pads he's collected from his own division and setting them in neat, organized stacks on the table.

Shortly after, the other Commanders and Heads of Departments began to file into the room, quietly taking their seats and bringing forth their own piles of data pads, the size of the collections varying from mech to mech. Ultra Magnus, as Iacon's Base Commander, took the honorary seat to Prime's right, sighing deeply as he slumped back in the worn metal. Ironhide slouched into the room like a storm, the armor plating on his head sporting the obvious dent left behind by Wheeljack's fall. He was alone; Chromia still refused to leave Arcee's side.

Shortly after his appearance, Wheeljack wandered in with Ratchet carefully supported against his side- the medic still looking a little dazed from the liberal amount of sedative he'd been subjected to. They took the seats directly across from Ironhide, the medic and weapons specialist fixing fiery glares on each other to make it clear that they still had a score to settle.

On Wheeljack's heels came Jazz with Blaster perched on his shoulder, Perceptor striding in quickly after them before the door slid shut on him. Mirage and Red Alert were the last enter, taking their seats quickly and quietly. The Security Director looked well recovered form his recent meltdown.

There was a general air of tension as each of the mechs shifted in their seats, each waiting for Optimus to break the tension. Elita stared expectantly at the side of her sparkmate's head, willing him to say something before the tension of the room exploded into something similar to what happened in the med bay earlier.

It was Jazz who brought a sudden end to the imposing silence. His bright optics caught sight of Ironhide's sizable dent and he leaned across the table to grin at the burly black mech, ignorant to the stormy mood the other was in. "Where'd ya get that from, 'Hide?" he asked, pointing shamelessly at the caved in section of armor. "Looks like one pit o' a dent ya got there!"

The abruptness of Jazz's voice cutting through the room caused everyone to turn, first to the Special Ops Commander, then to the weapons specialist, each catching a good look at the dent.

"None of your business," Ironhide grumbled warningly.

Perceptor, who sat on the conference table itself instead of in an actual seat, leaned forward. "That came as a result of Wheeljack employing a rather _inventive_ solution for a difficult problem," the scientist said, without elaborating.

Wheeljack rubbed his own sizeable dent embarrassedly. "Ya could say I really 'used my head' fer it," he laughed.

There was a scant smattering of awkward laughter; the brief levity was enough to cut the oppressive tension in the dim, narrow room for it to no longer be uncomfortable.

"I hope you all know the reason as to why I called you all here for this meeting?" Optimus asked, using the question as a way to steer attention back to him and away from Ironhide's head.

"To decide the crew for the Allspark mission, as well as to discuss the recent unforeseen developments concerning the status of the _Ark_, its destroyed and/or missing supplies, the condition of our two comrades in critical condition, as well as what actions we are to take in retaliation against the Decepticons that attacked and preparations we should make in the event that they were able to procure anything from the Ark's data banks." Prowl listed off with monotonous ease.

"Exactly," Optimus nodded. "To start things off, I know that all of you are curious as to Bumblebee and Arcee's conditions; while Bumblebee remains in a critical though stable condition, Arcee's condition does continue to deteriorate-."

Ironhide sent a heated glare in Ratchet's direction, though the medic ignored it for the most part as he cut in on Optimus's speech.

"I did find a most unusual program installed in Bumblebee, though, when I was trying to recalibrate his higher systems functions," he pointed out. "It may have saved his life in the Expanse, but it ended up corrupting a lot of files when the high-frequencies interfered with it."

Mirage inclined his head pensively. "What type of program?" he inquired.

"A 'rapid-reboot' program," intoned the medic, using the name of the entitled program dubiously. Jazz perked up a little, his optics widening. "It appears to be a roughly created file, not something a fully certified technician would pass off. It was recently installed, as well."

"Perhaps Bumblebee downloaded it from someone in Epsilon?" Ultra Magnus offered.

"Hot Rod does seem to be the irresponsible type to be using half-bit programs like this," Ratchet sighed.

Jazz sunk a little lower in his seat. Prowl glanced down at him sharply, and then put two and two together. "Or maybe our culprit is not as far away as Epsilon," Prowl intoned.

"Someone here, then?" Blaster inquired.

"Someone in this room," Prowl replied. He tilted his head towards Jazz, who tried to look nonchalant as he became subject to a number of scrutinizing glares.

"Explain." Ratchet deadpanned.

"Ah didn't think it was that big o' a deal," the saboteur said, shrugging. "It was just a program Ah did up in case Ah was knocked out in a fight. Mah whole division's got it an' it hasn't given any o' them any problems. Ah didn't think it'd be a problem for Bee either."

Prowl's expression darkened. "If you were equipping your entire division with this program, you should have registered it," he said.

"Never got around ta it," Jazz replied quickly.

"After this meeting is over, you're coming back with me to the med bay so that you show me exactly how it was installed so that I can take it out without doing any more damage to the poor mech," ratchet growled. "And then we are going to have a nice, _long_ chat about creating potentially dangerous programs such as this and installing them into other mechs without first having them tested or registered. After that, I'm going to scan every last byte of you to see if you were stupid enough to install any other slag into that already glitched up CPU of yours."

Jazz groaned but nodded nonetheless.

Prowl glanced to Red Alert, who held an irritated expression on his faceplate. They nodded to each other in a silent agreement, and then Prowl leaned down to Jazz's audio receptor. "And as soon as Ratchet is done with you, Red Alert and I would like to have a discussion over all the safety precautions you so carelessly ignored."

"_Fine_," the silver mech sighed.

"What of Arcee?" Elita asked.

"I have spent the orn analyzing every byte of data on the virus she's been infected with; it is a monstrous creation the likes of which I have never seen before! Whatever despicable beast came up with such a program meant for its victims to suffer terribly before the virus deactivated them." Perceptor made a noise of contempt. "I have not made any significant leeway in the development of an antivirus. I will require more time if I am to make any breakthroughs-."

Ironhide's thunderous growl vibrated through the room, optics narrowed on the tiny scientist.

"-that is not to say that if I persist at this conundrum that I will not make a spontaneous discovery!" Perceptor quickly finished.

Blaster, whose frame was built even smaller than Perceptor's, leaned over to pat the scientist on the back. "_Nice save_," he muttered.

"And what of the Decepticons that attacked? Do we have any idea as to their identity?" Prowl inquired. His gaze strayed to Ultra Magnus, who dipped his head and sighed.

"The attack happened within the Expanse; not one security camera or sensor was operational during the time," the base commander admitted. "I was locked out of the hangar for the duration of the battle so I was unable to establish a visual on them, but in the aftermath I was able to gather a single designation from Bumblebee before I had to force him into stasis." With a nod, the center of the table glowed with the holographic form of a heavily armored quadruped monster, rotating slowly for every bot assembled to get a good look at the travesty.

"Designation: Virus. Function: viral specialist and ex-Decepticon Special Ops. There's not a lot known about her, only that she appears to have split from the main Decepticon forces after Megatron's departure and now functions on a three-mech freelancing Decepticon team. Her supposed team mates are Trojan and Worm," two more holograms joined Virus on the table, a pair of imposing mechs outfitted in thick black armor, "both of whom are reported viral users as well."

"Well, _damn_," Blaster whistled, leaning forward to get a better look at the twisted, blunt faceplate of Virus. "Aren't they the ugliest things I ever did see."

"Their looks are irrelevant," Prowl cut in. "We need to be able to track these bots down. Perhaps they are in possession of an anti-virus that we could utilize?"

Mirage studied the holograms carefully, his optics narrowed. "I could send out Hound to track them down. He knows the Expanse better than anyone, and since that is where the attack first took place it would be an understandable place to start looking for them."

"I suggest that someone accompany him into the Expanse. It is unwise to send any mech in alone," Prowl offered. "Smokescreen would be an appropriate partner; he may not be familiar with the Expanse, but he is one of my best tacticians and had demonstrated admirable work in predicting Decepticon behaviour. He will undoubtedly be an asset."

"Ah have a couple o' agents in the field right now… If Ah can get a hold o' 'em, Ah'll send along the message to keep their optics open fer any information on these 'Cons." Jazz said. "Somethin' useful might turn up."

"The arrangements sound adequate. Contact them and brief them on the parameters of the mission. Have Hound and Smokescreen sent out as soon as feasibly possible." Optimus instructed. "There is no time to waste."

"I'm going with them," rumbled Ironhide.

"No. You're not." Optimus replied curtly.

The weapons specialist's broad frame rose as a shadow in the room, his faceplate illuminated menacingly in the light of the holograms as he leaned forward to address Prime. "Yes. I am." He growled back. "There's no way I'm not going."

With a hiss of servos, Optimus rose from his seat to impose over the table. He towered over them all. "There's no way of telling how long this tracking mission will take, Ironhide; it's either this or the Allspark mission. Which one is more important to you?"

A tense astrosecond passed as both mechs sized each other up, glaring holes through the other's armor in hopes that one would back down. In the end, it was Ironhide. His fist slammed against the table first, fritzing out the holograms for a moment, before throwing his bulk back into his seat. "Allspark," he grunted stubbornly.

"Good," Optimus replied, sinking back into his own seat slowly. The holograms of the three Decepticons disappeared, only to be replaced with a revolving image of the Ark. "Now onto the last order of business before we move onto deciding the _Ark_'s crew; the _Ark_ itself."

Wheeljack gave a snort through his vents. "The damages ain't as bad as they look," he said. "Just a lot of superficial stuff; dents, scratches, burns- things that can be fixed up by the mornin' if the repair teams keep goin' at the pace they're goin'. A couple a consoles need ta be replaced, and some new wiring here an' there, but nothing too bad… no viruses were found in the data banks at least."

"Excellent. Will any of the repairs require assistance from Wrenchwire?" Optimus inquired.

Wheeljack flinched at the mentioning of his ex-mentor, his fins flashing dimly. His audio receptors were still ringing from the old mech's shameless bawling the moment he informed him that his precious ship had been damaged in the return flight. It took both Patchwork and Kup to pry the minibot away from the screen.

"Ah… no. There's a good chance he might die of a sparkattack if he saw the _Ark_ as it is right now. He didn't take the news of the attack too well… Hoist and Grapple's repair teams are fine on their own." Wheeljack concluded.

"Alright. What of the status of the supplies?" Optimus inquired.

Prowl slid a data pad toward Prime. "A list of what has been destroyed or gone missing and what we will need to restock properly. Iacon's storage will not be sufficient enough to accommodate these needs."

Elita peered over at the data pad, watching as a long list of needed supplies scrolled passed her optics. "Well, that's easy enough to remedy. Blaster can simply send a message out to all nearby Autobot bases and outposts; I'm sure that some of them can spare a few supplies for a mission as important as this."

"My thoughts exactly," Optimus intoned, setting down the data pad. He dipped his gaze to the blazing red microbot sitting not far away on the table. "Are you feeling up to the task, Blaster?" he asked rhetorically.

The microbot laughed. "I could do it while rechargin', Prime!" he replied with ease. Obviously Blaster held no hard feelings towards his superior for the lacklustre evaded promise that Prime had weaseled out of the night before. Simply knowing that Bumblebee was going to be alright put them on equal footing again.

Optimus smiled briefly, settling back in his seat. He gazed out over the assembled faceplates of his fellow Autobots in the room, in one of them in turn returning his gaze proudly. A chuckle escaped him, despite the seriousness of the situation they were in. "And now on to our very last order of business; choosing the crew of the _Ark_-."

As expected, there was an immediate upheaval of order as everyone surged forward with their piles of data pads, all eager to have one of their own troops assigned to the mission. There was a cacophony of shouting as they all tried to relay the same thing; this mech was a strong warrior, an asset to the team; this femme was smart, quick, and agile; this minibot was small but resourceful; this aerial bot had proven himself a capable battle strategist-

"Alright, alright, I get the point!" Optimus called over the many voices clamouring to be heard. "I understand that all of you have very strong, capable warriors at your disposal, not to mention that some of yourselves have undoubtedly filled out a request to be on the mission as well, but if you all try and speak at the same time, I will not be able to hear a single one of you."

Quickly, the assembly settled back.

Optimus remained silent for a moment, considering something before speaking again. "I'm looking for a small team for this mission, so as not to deplete our forces here. I have already placed my self as head of the mission, and Ironhide has been accepted as well, so there are three more spots to fill. Each of you will choose who you to believe your soldiers and you will present them. Hopefully by the end of this, we will have a full team ready for launch."

Ratchet was the first to jump in. He held no pile of data pads before him. It was only himself he was presenting. "Optimus, you know as well as anyone that a medic will be needed for this mission! You have no idea where you will be headed, nor what kind of life forms you may encounter, or even if you are going to come in contact with unknown, dangerous pathogens. I should be placed on this mission simply for the fact that I am the best medic here at Iacon with the most experience with handling unknown situations. I have had vorns of experience memorizing each of your frames from the inside out. Who better to operate as medic on this mission than I?"

Optimus looked him up and down once. "And you're the only one volunteering?" he asked. "I thought for sure that First Aid would want to put in a request as well." Ratchet harrumphed but said nothing, settling back into his seat.

Wheeljack leaned towards Red Alert on his right. "First Aid _did_ put in a request," he muttered to the Security Director. "But Ratch' tossed it. He doesn't trust anyone else on this mission but himself."

Ultra Magnus tossed careful glances between Ratchet and Ironhide, both of whom were threatening each other with black glares. The Base Commander sent a sigh through his vents, turning his gaze to Optimus on his left at the head of the conference table. Was Optimus oblivious to the tension between the two mechs? Could he honestly be considering putting them on the same vital mission when it appeared that they could go nuclear on each other at any moment? He filed the questions away for after the meeting when he would have time to ask Prime in private.

"Since Ratchet appears to be the only one with a viable request and the credentials as a fully functional medic, does anyone object to his presence on the mission?" Optimus asked. Silence settled in the conference room, broken only by a deep, revving growl rumbling from Ironhide. "Then it's decided. Welcome to the team, Ratchet."

The rest of the proceedings, though arduous as it lasted long into night with every bot putting up a good argument for either themselves or a subordinate of theirs, eventually the last two spots were filled. As with the first three chosen mechs, the last two were also Commanders of their own divisions.

Though Mirage held in his hands Bumblebee's data pad for his request to be put on the mission, it was quickly decided that the minibot could not participate on the Allspark search due to his current condition. Instead, the Master Spy of the Intelligence and Espionage division was chosen; Mirage, himself. The mech did not particularly look forward to leaving the comforts of Iacon, in part due to his previous aristocratic life, but he accepted the assignment with the resignation that it was his duty to do so.

The last member chosen was, by far, the biggest surprise of all. While Prowl had put in the best argument, presented the best points, and gave the best reasons, it was Jazz who was chosen over him. Even the saboteur was utterly surprised; having been under the impression that he didn't have a spark's chance in the pit of getting on in light of his 'rapid-reboot' infraction.

When Prowl asked for clarification as to why Jazz was chosen over him when _clearly_ he was the better choice, Optimus pointed out that he still needed someone he trusted and knew was capable to stay behind to look after the Autobots in his absence. Ultra Magnus was staying behind for Iacon, but Optimus saw Prowl as the best to look after the Autobots as a whole. The tactician conceded to the point; he could understand why Prime saw it more important for him to stay.

To make matters even more surprising, Jazz was even given 2IC status for the mission.

The excited silver mech leaned forward on the table, gazing at Prime with a grin stretched far across his faceplate. "Yer jokin', right?" he asked, hardly able to contain himself.

"No, I'm not. I think it is appropriate for you to be charged with second in command for this mission since you have proven yourself reliable, resourceful, and, as demonstrated with your 'rapid-reboot' program, you have a talent for unorthodox thinking, which we may need in the future." Optimus explained.

"Well, alright! Count me in, Prime!" he crowed.

Shortly thereafter, the meeting was concluded and the mechs were free to leave.

Elita got up to follow after the crowd, but was stopped by a large hand on her arm.

"Please stay," Optimus said softly. Through their sparkbond, he let her know just how very tired he was. Their internal chronometers let them both know that the meeting that stretched well into the bleak, dead joors of the horrendously early morning.

Not able to refuse her sparkmate for this simple request, Elita turned back and hopped onto her chair, then onto the table top so that she faced her bonded fully. "I told you this meeting could have waited," she chastised gently. "Now look at you, you can barely stay online." She touched his faceplate lightly, stroking the warm metal lovingly. "You should have listened to me."

He peered at her with his unfathomably deep optics, now filled with exhaustion. "At least we now have the manifest for the crew. Everything is now almost in order," he said, leaning into his bonded's soothing touch.

"I assume the launch will be soon, then?"

"…yes."

Elita hummed softly, leaning forward to place her forehead flush against Optimus's. Here she was again, comforting him as she did a few nights ago. Why was it that it was _supposed_ to be her upset that her bonded was leaving, and yet _she_ was the one comforting _him_? She reached out with practised ease, rubbing, stroking, caressing gently. The tension in her sparkmate lessened fractionally. Once again, Elita reached out for him, but through their sparkbond instead of with actual physical hands. What she felt weighing down on Optimus's spark was guilt, and hurt, layered with exhaustion and confusion, muddled with the miserable feeling of helplessness.

"You're upset about Bumblebee," she mumbled. "What happened to him and Arcee is not you're fault. You need to stop placing the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"Bumblebee is not just any other bot-."

"I know." She scooted back on the table a little as Optimus rose slowly to lean over her, his arms spread to either side of her frame to support him. She continued to soothing touch his tense frame, now barely ghosting over the warm metal. "You're the one that brought him in from wherever you found him. He was just a tiny little sparkling then, in the tiniest little frame anyone had ever seen. I know you hold a special place in your spark for him."

Elita had never once spoken of the strange bond she felt between her bonded and the strange sparkling brought in from the cold. She never once voiced her concern nor questioned the affinity that floated invisibly between the two. Of course, she had her suspicions, but never any jealousy to the little, kind-sparked mech to whom Optimus watched over.

With a hiss of hydraulics, Optimus bent low to encompass the femme in his embrace. He wished to tell her the truth, to tell her of the real reason why he had been gone on so long on that mission so many vorns ago; of the hidden lab, of the theory he had, and the experiment with which he used his own spark and the Creation Matrix. The true origin of where Bumblebee was from. It seemed only right to tell her the truth before he left for only Primus knew how long.

He opened his mouth to begin, but lost his chance as the first words left his mouth. The conference room door slid open once again with a pneumatic hiss, admitting the Base Commander. He was intent on raising his concern behind having both Ironhide and Ratchet on the Allspark mission.

It took a mere astrosecond for him to register the dim room in which he walked into, the two embracing frames entangled on the table. He stood frozen in the entryway, analyzing it all with terrible clarity. Catching onto what his old friend was thinking, Optimus quickly pulled away from sparkmate and Elita scrambled to appear more dignified as she was accidentally dropped, sprawled on the table top.

"This isn't what it-!" Optimus began, but cut off as Ultra Magnus raised a hand.

"At least she isn't _under_ the desk this time," he sighed, and then walked out.


	13. Of Starscream and his Insubordinates

Gah, I feel like this, xx Writing this chapter has been one of the most painful ordeals I have ever had to go through. I am SO not a 'Con girl, I am a 'Bot through and through, and I nearly died trying to write this crazy chapter! I want to thank **Violet Light** and **Lady Tecuma** for looking over the bits and pieces of this chapter and giving me such wonderful encouragement and advice. You two, I never would have gotten through this without you!

_Virus, Trojan, and Worm- _OC's of mine. I had a little challenge going in the last chapter daring anyone to guess what their three names had in common; it was "computer viruses." **Lady Tecuma** was the only to guess, even if it was reluctantly, so the partial dedication of this chapter goes to her! Go read her fic _Sparks and Plasma_! (Shameless advertizing!)

_Flamewar- _She's an actual Decepticon femme, I didn't make her up! I want to thank **Violet Light** for introducing me to her! You're awesome **Violet**!

_Flamewar/Barricade- _Yeah, **Violet Light** again… Go read her fic _Vapour Trails_! (Shameless advertizing again!)

_Alpha Centaurie Sector- _According to the original G1 comic, the Alpha Centaurie sector is where Cybertron is.

_Frenzy's behaviour- _He'll seem really OOC at first because I'm judging his behaviour largely off of his G1 counterpart. He'll get back to his crazy, hyperactive soon enough!

Thank You Corner is brought to you by "_Reviewers"_- some of the best damn people around. I love each and every single one of your reviews! You truly are the ones who keep this story going! Thank you so much to **Dragowolf,** **Lady Tecuma, theshadowcat, Bluebird Soaring, Violet Light, Litahatchee, Bunnylass**, and **Kittona**. Honestly, you people are too kind and I greatly appreciate each and every review you give me!

The other partial dedication goes to **Litahatchee**, who once again left me two reviews for the same chapter (One signed the other 'anonymous'). You blow me away every single time with your thrilling, detailed reviews- I truly feel invigorated every time I read them!

Okay, so on with the 'Con chapter!

* * *

Starscream revved furiously, glaring at the active screen before him where the broad, ugly face of Virus glared back.

"Tell me what you know, you depraved little slag-heap, or I'll have you dismantled!" the Seeker screeched, his patience long gone from the last tedious joor of dealing with the Megatron-loving beast.

Contempt was written clear across the quadruped's faceplate as she regarded Starscream, looking at him as if he were the slag caught between her armor-sheering fangs. "I've already told you, you lacklustre half-bit glitch, I've raised my price," she replied in that flat, ravaged voice of hers. Sardonic humour danced in her optics; she was enjoying toying with the Decepticon leader.

"On what grounds!?" Starscream demanded, slamming his fists into the consol before him.

"Damages," she grunted, shifting to the side to reveal her two comrades currently offline behind her. Their frames were a myriad of blast holes and fried circuits, slowly being patched back together by the Decepticon sympathizers with whom they were currently hiding with. The dead frame of some dark blue Autobot mech laid in pieces nearby, his parts being salvaged for repairs.

A hard snort issued through his vents. "You will get nothing more than the price we agreed upon for your services," Starscream hissed. "You were to simply find out what the Autobots were doing with that ship of theirs; any damages wrought are at your own cost, not mine."

"Fine," Virus sneered in return. "Then you'll be getting nothing out of me at _your_ own cost, not mine." She made to cut the transmission.

The shadowed command center of the Decepticon's Kaon base teemed with snickering. They enjoyed any opportunity that came along in which their mighty "leader" got taken down a few pegs. Starscream lacked the utter respect and fear that Megatron had so forcefully wrenched from his warriors, but he made up for the shortcomings by being ever more clever and scheming; a devious and weaselling leader, trying, and failing, to fill the void of leadership that Megatron left behind. His abundance in cleverness, though, seemed to be running out as he dealt with the unrelenting Virus.

A shock of anxiety shot through the Seeker. If he lost the valuable information that the traitorous beast had gathered, he would never know what the Autobots were planning, and not knowing what they were up to could result in grave consequences for the Decepticons; grave consequences for _him_.

He had a choice; ignore Virus and have another, more loyal, team sent out to gather the needed information, wasting valuable orns for the data to be hacked again, or bow to the demands of the mercenary now before she was bought by another base and gave all her vital information to them. Or, worse yet, do _nothing_ and have the threat of her being bought by the _Autobots_ hanging over his head. Should the price be high enough, she'd hand over every byte of Decepticon knowledge in her possession to those self-righteous slaggers.

"Wait!" Starscream commanded, causing the quadruped to pause. _Slag! _His voice had sounded too desperate, too weak. A terrible mistake when facing down other Decepticons; they had the damned innate ability to _smell_ weakness. Sound too weak, look too weak, be anything that remotely resembled weakness, and they'd walk all over you.

Virus leered triumphantly. Starscream suddenly found himself the sole vestibule of attention in the dim command center, glaring red optics watching him with thinly concealed mirth. The entertainment the command center had been privy to for the last joor was suddenly a whole lot more interesting.

"Yes?" Virus prompted.

"State your new price," Starscream snarled, revving angrily. Behind him, he heard the chattering laughter of Frenzy as the minibot saw to the privacy of the communications channel. The little bot was close enough to smack across the room, but the Decepticon leader resisted. He had a deal to make. He'd get the little scrap of metal later.

Even more snickering filtered out from the corners of the command center, red optics filled with scathing delight. Starscream hissed angrily, knowing that now was not the time to open fire on his disrespectful insubordinates. They would _all_ pay for it later, at the seeker's own convenience.

A sardonic sneer crossed Virus's faceplate. Her laughter was harsh and grating. "Megatron _never _would have given into my demands," she replied scathingly.

A fresh bout of uncontrolled laughter cut through the command center. Frenzy was the loudest, his screeching laughter wheezing from his straining vocal processor. Barricade, whose post was near where Starscream stood, shook with harsh bouts of dark mirth. No doubt Blackout was somewhere nearby basking in the glory of his "leader's" humiliation, since he took every opportunity he could to witness Starscream's more-often-than-not humiliations.

The disgrace of it made Starscream's systems heat angrily.

"State your damn demands and then give me what I want!" he screeched.

"Twice the amount of energon I asked for before," Virus drawled. The expression on her faceplate clearly said that her list of demands was not so short.

Starscream went rigid, knowing more humiliation was to come before this was over. If he ever encountered the fragging beast faceplate-to-faceplate out on the battle field, he'd rip her spark out and turn her frame into a pile of smoking slag.

"Hmm, and I've been craving something refined for a while now too…" she said. "Throw in a couple of nice high-grade cubes for me. I want the good stuff from Centaurie Tetrax, not that junk you throw together in Kaon, it reminds me too much of you- full of slag and makes me want to purge my tanks."

More laughter boiled up from behind. Oh, how the Decepticons were enjoying the torment of their leader.

"_Silence!" _Starscream snarled, though he received only partial compliance. A formidable grinding rumbled from within his frame as gears began to grind. "Is that all, Virus?" he asked contemptuously.

"Hmm, yes, I believe it is; twice the original payment, plus a couple of cubes of high-grade."

Eager to get things over with, Starscream jerked his head in a nod. "Done!" he barked. "Now for your part of the bargain!"

Virus gave him a poisonous look. "I'm good for my word," she hissed. "More than what you can says, anyways. You'll get your fragging information."

Starscream deftly motioned for Frenzy to be ready for the incoming transmission, preparing for virus scans should Virus decide to give them a little extra than what they paid for.

She heaved back to sit like a mech, very awkward for her frame model, and pried open the rusted interface panel on her exposed chassis, drawing the battered cable out and inserting in into the consol before her.

"Here it comes," Frenzy hissed, his little fingers clacking across the consol to keep up with the rapidly incoming information. He was skilled in what he did, second to only Soundwave, his Creator; it was unlikely he was going to let some virus slip through in the transmission.

"Transmission complete," Frenzy intoned. "…it's all clear. Not so much as a line of corrupted code in it."

"Good." Starscream replied curtly. "And now that I have what I want-."

"You damn well better give me what I want!" Virus snarled.

The Seeker sneered. _"Of course_. You will be contacted when your payment has been procured and is ready for transport." He motioned for the transmission to be cut, knowing it was better he ended the conversation on his own terms rather than hers.

Frenzy hissed, quick hands flying to disperse the encryptions he had placed on the channel for privacy and then close the channel itself. Virus took advantage of the last astroseconds she had to lock optics with Starscream and snarl into the monitor at him.

"And don't bother to double-cross me, Screamer," she warned. "If I catch wind of any type of deception on your part, I'll infect every slagging 'Con in that base, starting with _you_-."

"Ending transmission," Frenzy cut in, and Virus's faceplate faded to black.

* * *

"If the information Virus has gathered is correct, then the Autobots have already acquired the needed ship, mechs, and supplies to mount a retrieval mission for the Allspark!" Blackout boomed. "We must mount an immediate attack to ensure that this does not happen! If it falls back into their hands, we'll be decimated and there will be no hope of getting Lord Megatron back!"

"That is assuming the information is correct," Shockwave intoned. "It would not be beyond reason to presume that Virus has been bought by another Decepticon base and is feeding us falsified information under their order. Perhaps some other base has decided that they are far more capable of seeking out the Allspark and retrieving our Lord Megatron themselves."

"She may even be bought by the Autobots," Soundwave pointed out, his deep monotonous tone resonating in the war room.

Blackout bristled. "Her threats of not double-crossing _her _seem to indicate otherwise," he growled. "I doubt the conditions Trojan and Worm are in are self-inflicted to further any sort of deception she may supposedly wish to use against us. Injuring her own team in order to deceive us would leave her at a disadvantage were we to decide to attack her instead of using what she has given us."

Motormaster revved quietly. "No self-proclaiming Decepticon would leave themselves open to attack like that."

"_Exactly_," Blackout hissed. "I'm highly doubtful that she would try any sort of trickery on us while her team is in such a diminished state. Obviously the demands she was making were to go towards repairing the damages suffered for their efforts-."

"-With exception to the high-grade, which was obviously for antagonistic purposes," Scrapper pointed out. "Though her views of Kaon refined high-grade are quite accurate."

The comment received its desired effect, eliciting dark rumbles from some of the mechs. Each of them agreed to some degree on Virus's view of Kaon high-grade.

Blackout was the first to gather himself and return the discussion back to the topic at hand. "She's more worried about _us_ double-crossing _her_."

"Virus has been apart from the Decepticon main forces for too long, we do not have enough information about her anymore to be able to act confidently on that assumption," Shockwave stated. He received a furious glare from Blackout.

"Settle down, all of you! I have a better way of figuring this out rather than bickering amongst ourselves like a group of half-bit younglings," Starscream interjected. He motioned to Onslaught, who reached behind him and extracted from the shadows one of his fellow Combaticons, the dubiously dealing Swindle.

Starscream settled back in his seat, watching as the gathered Decepticon leaders affixed their gazes to the cowardly mech dragged before them. "Swindle here has some admitted experience in the area of dealing and would no doubt be more than happy to help us sort out the issue of the fidelity of Virus's information." The Seeker's sharp gaze turned to the red mech being held at the mercy of his gestalt leader. "And you are going to tell us right now, or Bruticus is going to have to find a way to form without the use of his right leg."

The pressure with which Onslaught held Swindle captive increased threateningly, urging the Combaticon to speed up his probability calculations or else lose his head.

"There is a 39.56397 percent chance that everything she's given us is a complete load of slag," Swindle babbled quickly.

"Elaborate," Soundwave commanded.

Swindle quailed under the hard, indecipherable gaze Soundwave fixed him with. "She and her team are in contact with a lot of Decepticon bases due to their line of work. She's in demand; 'Con bases everywhere want her because they know she'll get the job done, but she only works for the highest or most powerful bidder. She works for our side only, no Autobots, regardless of what they're willing to pay."

"How can you be sure?" Soundwave challenged.

"She's a Megatron-fanatic; she only became a Decepticon because of him. She'd rip her own spark out before doing anything for the Autobots." Swindle's single, glowing optic dimmed slightly, swivelling around to size up each of the deadly mechs watching him. "Besides, the Autobots wouldn't dare try dealing with any sort of 'Con right now; they're under a lot of pressure lately from all the outpost attacks they've suffered from- all of them her, by the way."

"You seem to possess some very intimate knowledge of Virus's activities and behavioural patterns, Swindle. Are we to understand that you have knowledge at your disposal that we do not? Or are you in league with the beast herself?"

The voice that had spoken from the inky blackness that surrounded the table drifted through the mech's audio receptors like a fine poison. It was smooth, entrancing, and deadly, causing a thrill to run through every bot's neural circuitry. Swindle spun fast to the where the voice emanated from, bowing as deeply as he could while he was still at the mercy of Onslaught.

"N-no, Flamewar. I know only the scraps of information I gather from my clients, nothing more. I know of her activities with the outposts only because I was dealing with mechs stationed down in the Rigel VII sector where she was commissioned." He glanced up once to the floating red optics that watched him from the darkness. "As you well know, I worked closely with her under Megatron's reign. I know how she operates."

From the inky shadows around the table, the fearsome shape of a femme leaned forward, the ex-commander of the now defunct Femme Regiment, _Flamewar. _One of the last true Decepticon femmes, having survived Megatron's fanatical "purging of the ranks" to get rid of his "weaker" warriors. One of the few femmes who remained proudly in her femme frame instead of reformatting into a larger mech's frame, or to a genderless quadruped frame as Virus had done to escape her own fate. She had proven herself a deadly enough warrior that no one questioned her as a femme, nor her place at the war meeting.

"And with these scraps of information that you have picked up, you've been able to determine the plausibility of her information?" she asked, a single optical ridge quirking up.

"Yes- no- wait! Yes, yes, I have! To my knowledge, the last contact she's had with any base would be over a dozen orns ago, at Rigel VII. It's unlikely that they would have commissioned her for anything further than her outpost destruction missions or else it would have gotten too expensive. We are most likely the only clients she's working for at the moment; she needs our energon or else her team will starve. And, if anything, she has a vested interest in the retrieval of the Allspark, because she knows it is the best way of tracking down Lord Megatron's whereabouts, and we are the best equipped base to undertake the mission. She wouldn't try to deceive us over this information for that fact alone."

"Then why is your calculated risk of deception nearly forty percent plausible?" Flamewar questioned.

Swindle shook his head, a curt laugh cutting from him. "There is always a risk factor when dealing with _any_ Decepticon," he replied.

The ex-Femme Commander narrowed her optics but nodded nonetheless, leaning back into the veil of blackness that swallowed her whole. She was satisfied with the mech's answers.

Seeing the red mech's usefulness was now gone after Flamewar's short interrogation, Starscream sat up straighter and waved a dismissive claw towards the two Combaticons. Onslaught immediately understood, releasing his team mate and shoving him towards the exit. With instant relief, Swindle scrambled for freedom, disappearing with a hiss of the pneumatic door.

"Are we all now in agreement that Virus's information does hold some accountability?" Starscream asked, sneering at the assembly of Commanders. Reluctantly, he received the consent of his mechs, lastly being that of Soundwave and Shockwave, who exchanged subtle glances before nodding their grudging agreement. "Alright then, the question now is how to proceed?"

"I am with Blackout's earlier suggestion: an immediate attack! We should destroy whatever slim chance the Autobots have for finding the Allspark before they manage to launch their ship!" Motormaster commanded. "With their attentions solely focused on the preparations they are making for the mission, they will be ill-equipped to deal with a full-frontal assault. We will decimate them."

"I propose a slight alteration to Motormaster's plan," Shockwave said, sweeping aside the behemoth of black armor.

Starscream tensed, wary of anything the mech was about to suggest. He and Shockwave had butted heads more than once.

"To increase our possibilities of discovering the Allspark's whereabouts first, it would be in all our best interests to launch our best deep space ship simultaneously to the attack. Should we launch before hand, the Autobots will surely see our ship leaving the planet and launch to follow; launch afterwards and all Autobot bases will be on high alert for any Decepticon activity, we would be shot down before we even left atmosphere." Shockwave explained. "If we timed out exit to that of the attack, the Autobots would be too preoccupied with defending their base and all that lies within to do anything about following us."

"The _Nemesis _is our best ship," Soundwave stated.

Scrapper brought up the specs for the _Nemesis, _its holographic image appearing in the center of the table. The Constructicon leader looked over the ship carefully, as was every other bot. "Some adjustments will have to be made to the _Nemesis_ if we are to go ahead with Shockwave's proposed plan," he said. The image changed, zooming in on the aft thrusters, then on the slipstream wings, and on several other areas of the ship. As quickly as any processor could conceive, he was calculating what would have to be replaced, enhanced, or reinforced should the ship be launched.

"The Constructicons will be able to handle it though, will they not?" Flamewar queried.

"Of course," Scrapper replied haughtily. "Something as simple as ship modifications is nothing for my team."

"If you believe your team is capable of the appropriate alterations, then get to it. I want it done within five orns." As much as Starscream was loath to the idea of agreeing to _anything_ Shockwave suggested, he could not help but concede to it. For once, the personality-deficient computer on legs was useful for something other than being a pain in the Seeker's aft.

"Five orns?! You can't possibly think that's feasible!"

"Make it four if you're going to complain about it."

With a disgruntled snort, Scrapper fell back into his seat, sans any complaint whatsoever.

"Shall I take that order as your consent to my plan?" Shockwave asked.

"Obviously," Starscream replied scathingly. "And I will be placing myself in command of the mission."

Instantly, rigid tension filled the room. Optics snapped to the self-proclaimed leader, either widening in shock or narrowing in suspicion. Starscream glared back at them all with the same amount of contempt. Without being asked, he elaborated.

"This mission cannot afford to have anything go wrong on it and I trust no other mech greater with the task than myself," he said, though it wasn't even half the reason he was signing up for the Primus forsaken thing. In truth, he was only going along with it to make sure that they _never_ found Megatron. The rightful position as leader of the Decepticons was his, Starscream's! No one else's! Not even that long-dead, rusting memory Megatron! And if Starscream had to sacrifice the comforts of Cybertron for the cold clutches of space to ensure his status as lord over the Decepticons, than so be it!

"For the glory of finding Lord Megatron, I am assigning myself to this mission!" Blackout commanded. He towered over the tabletop, glaring down at Starscream with the silent dare to try and stop him from being on the mission.

Starscream faltered momentarily. _Just_ what he needed on the mission, a Megatron-lover; hadn't he dealt with enough of them that orn? Unfortunately, he had nothing to contradict the mech with, so he glowered instead.

"I volunteer Brawl for this mission," Onslaught said, earning several surprised glances.

"You are voluntarily breaking up your team?" Motormaster asked incredulously. He leaned away from the other gestalt leader, fixing him with a reproachful glare.

"He is one of the strongest of the Combaticons and will be an asset to the team," Onslaught pressed.

"An asset to only the search for the Allspark!" Motormaster countered, bristling at the mere thought of breaking up the Stunticons like Onslaught was breaking up the Combaticons. "What of Bruticus, though? Without Brawl, you won't be able to combine properly!" He might have loathed his loud, argumentative team mates but they were a force to be reckoned with as Menasor.

Onslaught remained calm. "The Combaticons will make due," he replied coolly. "If Starscream is to be successful in finding the Allspark and Lord Megatron then he is going to need the power to aid him. Brawl certainly has the strength and firepower to do so."

"To assist Brawl, I pledge Bonecrusher to the mission as well," Scrapper cut in quickly. "He is an efficient and brutal warrior. He is also true to his Constructicon programming: should the Nemesis be damaged for any reason, he will be able to repair it."

"You're sacrificing Devastator by putting Bonecrusher on this!" Motormaster spat angrily. "For all you know, you will never be able to combine again!"

"I am well aware of what I am sacrificing," Scrapper snapped. "Finding Lord Megatron and retrieving the Allspark is far more important than the ability to mash our frames and processors with other mechs. You don't seem to share that view though, do you?"

Motormaster shot out of his seat, towering over Scrapper, his back exposed to Onslaught. "I do not share the views of breaking up _any_ fragging gestalt team!" he snarled. "We are weak separately, but as Menasor, or Devastator, or Bruticus we are forces to be reckoned with! Why throw away all that power so easily when other bots with far less to lose could be tossed into this mission and we can remain whole?"

There was a brief flash of movement, barely anything that sensors could pick up, and suddenly both Onslaught and Motormaster had their guns drawn and trained on each other, Onslaught to defend Scrapper, Motormaster to defend himself. As soon as Motormaster had his back to Scrapper, the Constructicon was up with his own weapon trained, though he was caught before he could shoot, forced into a stalemate by the transformation of Motormaster's free arm becoming a large pulse cannon aimed for his chassis.

"Both of you are fools," Motormaster growled.

"At least our team mates are good for something separately as well as combined," Onslaught replied darkly.

"The Stunticons are only useful when combined." Scrapper growled. "And even then, their usefulness is limited."

Starscream stood from his seat and aimed his own weaponry at the three-way stalemate. "Sit down, all three of you!" he ordered, his words accompanied by the whine of his charging guns. With great effort, the three gestalt leaders sunk back into their seats. To regain control once more, Starscream spoke before anyone else jumped in.

"Onslaught, Scrapper, it is a very surprising and yet so uncommonly generous of you to be placing a member of each of your teams on this mission. I thank you for the sacrifice that I know you are making," he said, his smooth-as-oil voice floating in the darkened air with just the right amount of humble intention and flattery. He was the master of manipulation. He knew that loyalty, or at least mild compliance, in the ranks depended greatly on the right amount of flattery and lies.

"Finding Megatron is worth the sacrifice," Scrapper shrugged.

Starscream smothered the grimace that wanted to spasm across his faceplate. "Of course," he replied in what he hoped was an appeasing tone.

"I am not willing to separate the Stunticons," Motormaster rumbled threateningly. His deep revving vibrated the room. "Instead, I will place my team on the frontlines of the assault force on Iacon. We will take the base before any other 'Con can even land a shot, and then we will destroy it. No Autobot will be left standing."

"Good. The frontlines are all yours," Starscream acquiesced.

Soundwave rose from his seat, turning to Starscream with an indecipherable look. "I will be on the Allspark mission," he said.

A sharp thrill passed over Starscream; there was no way in the pit that he was having _two_ Megatron lovers on board with him. One was bad enough. Luckily, he had an excuse to deny Soundwave the position.

"This is a deep space mission and surely you are aware that there will most likely be the need to conserve energy," Starscream pointed, meeting Soundwave's gaze unflinchingly. "You consume nearly four times the amount of energy that any single mech would need because you are supporting others as well as yourself. We can't afford that expenditure of energy. Blackout is bad enough with his energy needs to support himself and Scorponok, you will drain the ship before we even leave the Alpha Centaurie sector."

A subtle change in Soundwave's frame, the miniscule shift in his normally stationary faceplate, was enough to let Starscream know that the mech was glaring at him.

To quell the impending fight, the Seeker quickly flowed forward to further his excuses. "But, of course, you, Soundwave, are as valuable a warrior as you are a communications officer and scientist. Far from denying you a complete place on the _Nemesis_, I was thinking of offering a partial position… Frenzy is an accomplished communications officer and spy, he would do well to be on the mission in your place." He was careful not to let the smirk he felt cross over to his faceplate. Should he give away any sign of pleasure or scheming, Soundwave would instantly know that the Seeker was up to more than just his usual tricks, which, in fact, was the truth. In choosing Frenzy to be on this mission, he could get a little revenge on the little scrap of metal for laughing at him earlier.

Soundwave remained stoic, uttering not a sound. Even the humming of his internals sounded muted. He stood glaring at Starscream with unfathomable abhorrence. To even _suggest_ putting one of his creations on the mission-! Though he dared not let any bot know, he did hold a certain amount of fondness for every single one of the little creations in his care. To ask, to even consider, sending anyone of them away from himself to be under Starscream's control- it was like sentencing them to the worst fate possible.

Starscream cocked his head to side. "Of course, you do not have to agree. Frenzy does not have to take your place. I am sure that there are plenty of other mechs in this base willing to take his place."

A dim flash crossed Soundwave's visor. If he were to refuse, that would mean there would be no one on board to keep an optic on Starscream's activities. Who was to say that Starscream would even bother looking for either the Allspark or Megatron if there was no one on board to force him?

"I will consider it," Soundwave growled darkly.

A smile like poison crossed Starscream's faceplate. "Well, if you decide to have Frenzy as a part of this team there will be a few 'small' adjustments he will have to undergo for the sake of…'_energy conservation_.' He would make a good partner for Barricade…"

A deep rev emanated from within Soundwave as he wordlessly sunk back into his seat. His processor was a whir with loathing towards his pompous 'leader.'

Starscream turned his gaze from his communications officer, piercing the darkness to catch Flamewar's optic. "And you? Do you feel as if you'd be an _asset_ to this mission?" he asked, barely hiding the lewdness he meant behind the question. Should the femme agree, she certainly would be a useful, if not pleasurable, benefit.

Her reply was a scathing snort, glowing optics narrowing in disgust. Too long had she dealt with Decepticon mechs and their innuendos, it was all starting to tire her. "I'd rather focus my attentions here. My talents will be far more useful on Cybertron than up in space." Though another reason she wished not to go was that she'd rather rust than be stuck on the same ship as Starscream for Primus only knew how many vorns.

"I would have thought that you would wish to follow Barricade onto this mission?"

Small fists clenched on her lap. Love was a dangerous thing for any Decepticon to think about, let alone fall into. Starscream, in all his prying glory, always had his suspicions about the nature of her and Barricade's lustful encounters. He slipped in discreet innuendos whenever he passed them in the corridors; he took every opportunity to torture them and separate them for difficult missions. This was no different. He was just torturing her. She was not going to give in, despite the price she was going to have to pay.

"No. If you so chose to place him on the mission, then I will simply have to find another mech to accommodate my needs," she growled. "As I've said, I will remain on Cybertron."

"Too bad," the Seeker sighed in mocking reply. "I will miss your company." His sharp gaze once again swept the gloomy, narrow room, at last landing on the last mech to speak- his least favourite of them all. "And you, Shockwave? What is it that you plan?"

That single, large optic adjusted, flaring briefly, the glow from it catching on Shockwave's deep, stormy-purple plating. "My plans are no business of yours," he replied flatly.

Instantly, the Seeker's faceplate fell into a grinding scowl. "Oh really? Well, is it any of my business to know if you are going to be on this mission or not?"

"I will not be on the mission, if that is what you want to hear," Shockwave replied. "My abilities are best served here, as Flamewar's are. It was my appointed duty by Megatron to carry on with my research and continue with the mission to capture all of Cybertron. I will persist until that goal is accomplished."

Starscream's optics darted between Shockwave and Soundwave, two of the most dangerous mechs to his position. Either one of them could decide to become the usurping fragger he knew they were capable of becoming- should they ever decide to team up, his position as leader of the Decepticons would be put in jeopardy. But if he were to break them up by allowing one to come on the mission, the chances of finding Megatron increase- something he did not want either. As much as he hated the idea of relying on chance, he would have to put his faith in both mech's solitary natures so that they did not team up with each other.

Fixing one last glare around the war room, Starscream addressed them collectively. "Now is the time for preparation. We have our ship and crew, so now we the supplies and modifications to the ship. Get them done as quickly as possible. If we plan to attack Iacon at the same time, then a proper battle plan will need to be made and warriors will need to be gathered. Accomplish this as efficiently as possible. This is our chance to deal a detrimental blow to the Autobots, I will not allow for any sort incompetence." He drew himself up impressively. "Keep all that we have discussed primarily to yourselves. Let no one know our exact plans. As Swindle had clearly demonstrated, news is easily passed from mech to mech; we can not afford such a mistake. You are all dismissed."

With a sense of satisfaction, he watched as his Commanders silently trooped out, some glancing back with mutinous glares.

* * *

The force that took her from behind easily knocked her off her feet, claws sweeping around her frame, strong arms drawing tight around her and forcing her back into a broad chest. Warm black metal slid close to her own deep shadow coloured armor, accented sharply with red as deep as her optics. Deep revving reverberated through her frame.

They were only in storage room, semi-private, with there always being a chance of being walked in on. Normally they cared little if they had an audience, but now was a time they wished for it to just be the two of them.

"I'm sorry," Flamewar spoke, her voice so quite that it sounded like no more than the whisper of servos moving.

"Don't be," Barricade replied, drawing his femme closer. He loved the feel of her, he relished her, her strength, her power, her very presence, her deadly prowess in battle; he savoured every moment with her.

"I should have agreed to be on the mission," she sighed, turning in Barricade's arms to face him.

"And risk being exploited by Starscream? No, you chose the right thing by remaining on Cybertron," he replied, his voice nothing more than a rumble in her audio receptor. He shuddered to think what Starscream would do were he ever to get his grabby claws on Flamewar.

"We'll be apart," Flamewar countered. She sounded weak, too weak, _disgustingly_ _weak_, like an Autobot femme, but she could not bolster enough energy to strengthen the sound of her voice.

Her frame was gently hoisted, carried to the deeper shadows of the storage room, encompassed by the welcoming shadows and Barricade's strong frame. "We've been apart before. We will survive." His passionate red optics fixed on hers. "_I _will survive on the _Nemesis_ and _you _will survive here on Cybertron. No matter what, we will return to each other."

His words were so raw, passionate, _rough_; it was almost an order. He was of lower rank than her, she being the once Femme Commander and he being only an officer. Lust overrode that, their passionate loyalty to the other burned the bridges of protocol so that they could relish in each other. She was willing to follow whatever order he issued to her, just as he would follow any of the slightest desires she would ever have.

Her beautiful head nodded slowly, the red accents of her armor catching in the red glow of Barricade's optics. "We will return to each other," she murmured. She felt claws skimming across her hard sleek armor, rising to her interface port, flipping it open with ease. She offered no resistance. Her sharp fingers flew forward, grabbing the black armor that surrounded her, dragging the mech close, a sudden, desperate lust filling her.

They only had this short amount of time left. They only had so long to enjoy each other.

Flamewar's finger's deftly found Barricade's interface port, delving in to capture his cable and draw it out. His rumbled around her, his claws so gently taking her own line and playing with it, watching as beautiful rapture crossed her faceplate. They knew each other's frames from memory, they knew where the other loved to be touched, to be fondled, to be pleasured in ways that only they could dream of- it was a fine line between agony and ecstasy.

_Interface connection established… connecting… connecting… Connection established. _

A rough shriek of pleasure was ripped from Flamewar's vocal processor as Barricade suddenly bore down into her being, into her files and data, into her processors and circuitry. He went deep, filling her with intense lust, with passionate wanting, with a hunger that could never be satiated. Her internal temperatures skyrocketed, cooling systems instantly kicking in to compensate. Every neural circuit was on fire, alight with the presence of Barricade delving further and further into Flamewar's being as if he were trying to lose himself to her.

"B-Barri-! _Barricade_! Oh Primus, Barricade!" Her vocal processor could hardly form a single name. He was being so passionate, uncontrolled, devouring, that she scarcely hold her own processes together. Her entire frame trembled wildly, writhing beneath his frame. She was nearly the same height as him but she was outdone by his thicker armor, his heavier bulk; he enveloped her in his presence.

"I know what Starscream plans to do with me," Barricade snarled. "I know, and I hate it more than anything. I do not want to share my frame with anyone but you. You are my only one- _mine alone_- I despise that fragger for doing this to us, for ordering me to be "equipped" with that little scrap of metal-! Primus, Flamewar!"

Anger like the fire of a thousand burning worlds consumed Flamewar in an inferno of passion and hatred and pain and pleasure. She hated Starscream. She loved Barricade. She was almost helpless against the furious tide of crashing emotions swirling inside her.

"I know, Barricade! I know!" Flamewar could do nothing but shout her mantra over and over, scrambling at armor, her back forced deep into the wall she was shoved against. Bright sparks pierced the gloom as too-sharp claws crossed a too roughly against protective metal plating.

She was ragged and writhing, her intakes burning with the effort to take in air, internals melting, cooling systems whining desperately. In the blaze of the furious passion imposed on her, she gathered herself, shoved back, pouring herself into Barricade in the same fashion that he had attacked her in.

The effort was enough. At the first touch of her presence within him, Barricade reared back, letting loose a roar of unbridled ecstasy. Leaping from the wall, Flamewar dove forward, wrapping herself around the hard angles of her mech, screaming his name in an agonizing wave of pleasure. Hot, blue electricity shot between them, stinging, pleasurable, cold, hot, tingling, entirely too good to be felt for long or they'd surely die from it.

They trembled in the wake of their duel overloads, furious, loving, hateful, and desiring; their moment together had passed too quickly. Savour it as they did in the too-short moments it happened, it _still _was not enough. It was _never_ going to be enough. They were always going to want more, but because they were Decepticon, because they wore the decal proudly, because they followed the Lord High Protector instead of the Prime, they would never be closer, their sparks would never be one, because Decepticons weren't supposed to love.

And as they lay upon the cold floor of the semi-private storage room, trembling in each other's arms, pressed so close to the other that they could have been one, they murmured words to each that they dared not speak before any other Decepticon. _Love. Devotion. Promises. _

Flamewar turned her faceplate into the gentle touch of Barricade's claws, her systems now purring a soft song of contentment. She listened to him as his voice resonated in the dark.

"It doesn't matter what Starscream does to me. It doesn't matter how much distance is put between us. No one will be able to take this away from us."

* * *

Frenzy stood tensely before his Creator, glaring up into the great red visor. He felt like he was under a spotlight, with not only Soundwave gazing down on him, but his own brothers and sisters close by, gazing from the background, whispering, watching.

"I'm not a youngling anymore!" the minibot shouted in his frustration. "I haven't been a youngling for a long time! Stop treating me like one!"

"I am only trying to look out for you," Soundwave countered. "Starscream has asked that you be placed on the Nemesis in place of myself."

Frenzy stomped in frustration. "There's nothing wrong with that! I can handle it!"

"That's not all he wishes," Soundwave continued, silencing his fuming creation. Behind him, he felt the morbid curiosity of the others growing. "Starscream has asked, for the sake of 'energy conservation,' that you be reformatted into a microbot frame and enter into a symbiotic relationship with Barricade-."

"Does that little half-bit slagger have something misfiring in that twister processor of his?!" Rumbled roared from behind. "He can't do that! He can't separate us! He can't force Frenzy to reformat!"

Soundwave turned to face Rumble, who sat perched between Ravage and Laserbeak. Buzzsaw and Ratbat hung back, glowering dourly from behind the other three. "Of course he cannot force Frenzy to reformat, nor can he force me to perform the procedure-."

"But what if I agree to it?" Frenzy asked. "Isn't it my choice whether I get this done or not? Can't I have a say in this?" All optics drew to him, staring at him incredulously. He shifted quickly under the scrutinizing gazes.

"Think carefully about the decision," Soundwave warned. "The procedure will require breaking contract with me and being bonded to Barricade. Are you prepared to do that?"

"I don't get to be the dominant one in the relationship, do I?"

"No."

"Frag." He sighed, not really disappointed since he never thought he'd have the luck to the carrying partner anyways. "Oh well… still, you need someone to keep an optic on Starscream, I can do it. I can handle whatever he throws at me."

Ravage fixed his brother with a sharp glare. "Don't be daft," he growled. "You know the risks of reformatting into a smaller frame; information can be lost in the data compression transfer. Do you honestly want to risk it for the sake if Starscream's paranoia?"

Laserbeak gave off something akin to a distressed chirrup. "Any bot can get a larger frame, but it's harder to go small again. Sparks don't handle compression well. There are more risks than benefits. Don't do this."

"I am not willing to subject you to the risks," Soundwave intoned.

Frenzy revved in frustration. "I'm not a youngling!" he reiterated. "You don't need to coddle me anymore! This is war and if I can be of any use to fight or to find the Allspark or get Lord Megatron back, then I will do it! I don't care about risks! I can handle them! I just want to be of some use! Let me do this! Trust me!"

Silence reigned for a long time in Soundwave's quarters. He stood motionless, judging Frenzy, judging the risks, processing everything meticulously. Finally, his spark won over his processor, though he was loath of admit it.

"If you are fully aware of the risks and still wish to proceed, then I will perform the reformatting…"

* * *

Starscream stood proudly in Kaon's hangar, standing in the throng of bustling mechs all charged with the duty of preparing the _Nemesis_, of gathering supplies, of completing a dozen other duties. He relished in every opportunity that arose to shout an order at someone, to curse a mech out, to kick a slow drone.

The Constructicons were working at full capacity, rushing here and there to put the finishing touching on the _Nemesis_.

"Hey! Hey, Screamer!"

Starscream grimaced, spinning quickly to watch the rapid approach of his two fellow Seekers, his brothers, Skywarp and Thundercracker, who, at the moment, had some poor mech strung between them and were dragging him forward. He would have shouted at them to address him by his proper designation but knew it was entirely fruitless to try.

"What do you want?" he deadpanned.

Skywarp disengaged his hold on the mech, Thundercracker easily taking both arms and holding the struggling underling. With a casual air about him, Skywarp sidled up to his brother and grinned deviously.

"We have a present for you," he said, drawing out the words teasingly.

Optics narrowed, a scowl dragged his faceplate down. "What it is?" the eldest asked suspiciously, a single glance darting to the struggling mech who he did not even know the designation for.

An arm slung over his shoulder, drawing his frame close to Skywarp's. "Poor, poor Counterpunch here lost a bet with us," he said, his grin widening.

"You probably cheated," Starscream replied.

Skywarp shrugged. "So we did," he said. "But he still lost, and do you know what we all agreed the loser had to do?"

"I can't imagine…" Starscream sighed, rolling his optics.

Thundercracker hauled Counterpunch up, letting the mech's legs dangle off the ground. "Volunteer to be the leader of the team that transports Virus's payment," the Seeker said, shaking his captive prisoner lightly.

Counterpunch put up a valiant fight in Thundercracker's arms, desperate to get away. He kicked and squirmed, remaining trapped.

The Decepticon leader raised an optic ridge. "Well, that certainly is a dangerous mission to be using as betting stakes," he said.

"I won't do it!" Counterpunch shouted. "I won't do it unless I have an antivirus! I want a fragging antivirus! I refuse to go anywhere without an antivirus!"

He was silenced quickly as Skywarp made an irritated sound and went to cover the mech's mouth. "He's a little reluctant, but a bet's a bet."

Counterpunch somehow manoeuvred away from Skywarp's smothering hand. "I'm not going anywhere near that fragging, pit-spawned monster unless I have the antivirus with me!" he shrieked.

Starscream laughed a harsh bark of laughter. "Of course we'll supply you with an antivirus," he drawled. "I wouldn't _dream_ of sending any mech to that beast without one."

* * *

The lab in which the reformatting was to take place was crowded, and not all with the designated personnel who were to assist Soundwave with the forthcoming procedures. In support of their brother, Soundwave's other creations crowded around the berth where Frenzy laid, whispering to him, wishing him luck, ordering him not to die. They were buffered back and forth by the numerous drones and technicians and medical overseers who were preparing Frenzy's frame and processors for the transfer.

On the next berth laid Barricade, Flamewar sitting next to him, uttering words of reassurance. They were careful not to appear too concerned, too close to the other; the room was too small, crowded; they were in danger being caught in their love for each other. They dared only touch hands.

Bored Decepticons jostled each other on the other side of the observatory windows, eager to watch the only bit of excitement they were privy to.

The procedure began easily enough. Both Barricade and Frenzy were offlined, their rightfully worried counterparts shoved into the corners now so that they were not in the way.

Barricade was the easiest to deal with. Hydraulics and supports simply needed to be reallocated inside his chest cavity to make room for the carrying compartment that was to be installed. The proper wiring was threaded in so that it was connected to his processor and then to his energy cells. Everything was carefully measured, carried out methodically. It when off without a hitch.

Frenzy was far more difficult. Soundwave steeled himself for the second part of the procedure, the longest and most dangerous part. Sensors webbed around the minibot, his cranial unit opened and hooked up to large, whirring device that was to siphon all his data and compress it into smaller chips that would fit into his smaller frame. It was tedious work to do so, because even as the transfer computer drew the information, it still had to be monitored carefully by others so make sure nothing was amiss and nothing got corrupted.

As that went on, Frenzy's chassis were opened, his spark exposed. It was small and bright, flickering in a pattern that was welcoming and familiar to his Creator. A calculating glance fell upon the frame that Frenzy was to inhabit shortly. It was small, silver, and lacked any sort of armor. It was not a battle ready frame, built for stealth and speed instead. It was not of his design, it was Starscream's. A curl of disgust churned his insides at the thought of one of his Creations living in a frame designed by that glitch.

As careful as any mech could be, Soundwave gently cupped Frenzy's frame and coaxed his spark out into his palm. Without any sudden movements, it was placed in a specialized machine meant to compress the spark's energy, enabling it to fit into its new spark cage.

Soundwave waited for the time it took for the compression to be complete. It was easily over two joors, though he waited without a single sound or movement. He carefully worked to untangle Frenzy's being from his. Undoing lines of code, cutting energy ties, severing the innate connection between them; it hurt, leaving nodes within him raw. He did it anyways, because that was what his creation wished. He watched as the several chips containing Frenzy's thoughts, memories, and programming were taking from the compression transfer computer and placed into Frenzy's new frame.

And then came the noise that Soundwave never hoped to hear; the warning alert that screeched from the spark compression chamber whenever a spark started to fail from the pressure that was being exposed to it. His own spark nearly froze in terror.

"_You don't need to coddle me anymore! This is war and if I can be of any use to fight or to find the Allspark or get Lord Megatron back, then I will do it! I don't care about risks! I can handle them! I just want to be of some use! Let me do this! Trust me!" _

He shouldn't have listened to him! He had let his spark get in the way of his processes, and now Frenzy's spark was in danger of being extinguished! Should Frenzy die because of this needless procedure, it would his fault! He should never, _never_ have even considered giving into Starscream's ultimatum.

Thinking quickly, moving quickly, Soundwave reached in and cradled the flickering ball of energy that served as his creation's life force. It was so small now, smaller than it had been before. So dim… so weak… Drones rushed to open Frenzy's new spark chamber, supporting the limp frame, holding it up for the Creator who held his creation's dying spark.

A dull sparkle, blue light falling into the dark cavity, and then the tiny, tiny chamber was closed. All sensors were screaming that the spark was continuing to die. In movements that Soundwave himself was barely aware of, he picked up the terribly small figure and folded him, placing him in that cold, dark carrying chamber now housed in Barricade's chest. A manual connection between them was established, a bright flash of blue energy filling the cavity as a new symbiotic partnership was established.

Tense astroseconds passed and the scream of warning sensors died away. Life signs stabilized. Soundwave sighed deeply through his vents; Frenzy would live.

"Did it… did it work?" Flamewar asked cautiously, pressed close to Ravage and Laserbeak in their corner.

"Yes." Soundwave replied, his monotonous voice uncharacteristically quiet.

"Are you going to online them now?" Rumble asked, disengaging his arms from around Flamewar, to whom he had clung to throughout the ordeal.

With tired, slow movements, Soundwave slowly summoned Barricade back to the land of the online. He rose to consciousness slowly, painfully, grunting in slight discomfort from the new bulk in his chest cavity.

Flamewar was at his side instantly, not giving a damn anymore to anyone who saw. "Are you alright?" she asked, hands soothing his faceplate, his arms, his chassis. Her optics met his. He appeared dazed as Frenzy's extra input caught him off guard. With some effort, he heaved up into a sitting position, slumping limply over Flamewar.

"How do you feel?" Soundwave inquired warily.

"Like slag," he grunted in return. His chassis thrust open on their own, spilling forth a quicksilver blur of chattering energy. It sparked wildly and moved with the erratic jerks of a bot suffering from an immense energy overload. In a clattering of miniscule hands and feet, the creature clambered over Barricade's body, its partner, and explored him.

"_BarriBarriBarricade!" _Frenzy chattered quickly.

Soundwave looked away, moving back to his four remaining creations still bonded to him. Frenzy no longer had optics for him. There was only Barricade.

* * *

The day was slowly coming to an end, activities in Kaon dying down in preparation of the nightshift in which little work was ever done. Counterpunch slunk through the corridors quietly, careful not to draw attention. Some bots he passed had the nerve to laugh at him, for it was common knowledge by now that poor, unlucky, low-ranked Counterpunch had lost a bet and was now forced to be the delivery mech for Starscream to Virus.

Little did any bot know; he lost on purpose.

With deliberate measure, he slipped into the archives that lay deep below Kaon. There was no guard here because the archives were seen as unimportant, much to Counterpunch's advantage. Through the heavy metal door, into the rust filled cavern, slinking along shadows, making little noise, the mech headed for the single monitor in the room.

With frightening ease that seemed ill-suited for a Decepticon of his low rank, he hacked into the communications channels and opened an Autobot frequency, encrypting it so heavily that none would be able to detect it. So many times had he done this before that he knew the procedures by spark. In astroseconds, he was connected with Iacon.

With a sigh, he allowed his battle mask to fold away, his armor shifting along his frame, folding, changing, rearranging. The last to change was his colour, lightening like dawn on the horizon from dark, midnight-indigo to a warm, orange-yellow. He left the Decepticon signature resonator in place though, just in case some wayward mech were to come down and discover him.

A welcoming faceplate came into focus on the chronically burred screen.

"Well, well, if it ain't one o' mah favourite mechs!" Jazz greeted. "Is this a business or pleasure call, Punch?"

Punch smiled to his commander. "Decidedly business," he replied.

Jazz leaned towards the screen, his blue optics bright. "An' that business would be?"

A small, slim chip was help up for Jazz to see. "A cure," Punch said slowly, relishing the words as he said them. "I have the antivirus right here."


	14. Of Autobots and Decepticons

We're leading up the end, my dear readers! Only a few chapters left!

I want to sincerely thank the handful of reviewers who kindly gifted me with their generous reviews last chapter. So, many, many thanks goes to **Bluebird Soaring, theshadowcat, Violet Light, staringsideways, lady tecuma,** and **Bunnylass**. You six are too wonderful for words!

* * *

The moment the channel closed and the screen went dark, Jazz was up and running for the door. As a streak of silver, he dove into the corridor beyond his office, thanking Primus that the nightshift had already begun and the halls were now virtually devoid of anyone to run over.

In the short sprint between the Special Ops' office and the Command Center, only once did a near-collision occur- being between the ecstatic silver mech and the hapless Bluestreak who just happened to be out for a late-night stroll. Shouting quick apologies over his shoulder, Jazz just kept on running, leaving the dazed mech in the dust as he swung into the Commander Center with a grin so wide on his faceplate that it nearly cracked the metal.

He spotted the Boss Bot the moment he was in, the Supreme Commander's towering frame never hard to spot in any room. Next to him was the broad form of Ultra Magnus, and shadowed next to them was Elita One, all three of them standing out of the way on the second level of the command center, near the railing. As was the usual fashion for most bots as of late, their faceplates looked grim as they discussed something in voices that were modulated to be as hushed as possible.

With his quarry tracked down, the Special Ops Commander vaulted the stairs and ran for his fellow commanders. Over the dull hum of the commander center's nightshift activities, Jazz's approach was easily heard. Blue optics lifted to meet him, some brief nods, and then jumping out of the way when they realized the speeding mech wasn't going to brake in time to stop himself from bowling them over.

Skidding to a halt roughly in the spot Ultra Magnus had _just_ been standing in, Jazz took a bare moment to compose himself, but the grin wouldn't stay off his faceplate long enough for him to do that. He opted for just standing informally instead; a fashion he was both accustomed to and suited the nature of his news perfectly.

"Is there something the matter, Jazz?" Optimus asked, though he doubted anything could be too terribly wrong if the mech was practically vibrating out of his own exoskeleton.

"Ya never gonna believe this, Prime. Never! Best news Ah've heard in a long time!"

Curiosity piqued, Optimus inclined his head for the smaller mech to continue.

"Couple orns back, right after the meetin' an' all, Ah sent out a heads-up ta every mech Ah could get a hold of in my divison ta let 'em know what's goin' on, an' Ah told 'em ta keep an optic open fer anythin' on Virus an' her team, jus' like everyone else is doin', right? An' then just breems ago, Ah was jus' in contact with one o' my agents stationed in Kaon, an' it turns out that he's collected up somethin' that Ah think yer gonna like!" He didn't bother to lower his voice any as he spoke. This was too good to whisper about! Protocol be damned!

Optics from curious mechs working nearby began to drift towards the conversation, audio receptors tuning in to catch a few words. Sideswipe glanced up to the level above him where he could hear Jazz's voice going on about something; he could tell from the tone that it was something good. He nudged his brother next to him, who turned his head enough to scowl in Sideswipe's direction. He was in a fouler mood than usual from being stuck on the nightshift as punishment for the scene he'd caused Nebula One shortly after Bumblebee and Arcee got out of surgery, drinking himself through several high-grade cubes and starting a fight with several mechs.

Sideswipe gave him a disgruntled look and opened a private comms between them so no one would overhear. _"Something's going on up there."_

"_So?"_

"_What do you mean '__**so**__'? It's gotta be better than the slag we're doing down here." _

"_Anything is better than the slag we're doing here." _

"_Then listen in with me," _Sideswiped needled, continuing to nudge his brother. To those who were outside the private comms between the two brothers, it just looked like Sideswipe was up to his usual antics bothering his twin, poking him incessantly.

Sunstreaker sighed and shoved himself away from the consol, and then gave Sideswipe a good shove off too. He was a warrior, a mech meant for battle (despite his blatant love for his paintjob); monitor duty was _not_ for him. _"Fine, whatever, as long as you stop bugging me." _

"_Done!" _

"An agent in Kaon, you say? That's Starscream's main base. You must have sent a very daring Autobot to infiltrate that place."

"One o' the best, sir," Jazz replied, hardly able to contain his excitement.

"And this agent of yours, what could he have possibly gathered that could make you act so…" Ultra Magnus searched for the right word to describe Jazz at the moment, "_excited?" _

His grin only grew wider, his visor up to reveal his optics alive with bright, thrilled light. "It jus' so happens that this particular agent o' mine has come inta possession o' a certain antivirus that is supposed ta be able ta counteract a certain kind o' pesky Alpha-class virus-."

"-No! Are you sure, Jazz? A cure? Completely sure that it's- it's?" Elita crowded forward eagerly. "This isn't just some false alarm, is it?"

Quickly, the silver mech shook his head. "Nah, it's not," he replied. "Ah had him do every deep-level scan o' the antivirus that was possible an' all the results said the same thing; it's one pit o' an antivirus. Never seen nothin' like it before. The coding is flawless, nothing's corrupted- no doubt 'bout it, it's the real thing."

"Dear Primus," the femme whispered. "This is wonderful! Oh Jazz, this is too wonderful!" She grasped the mech in a quick hug, wishing that she could inquire about the designation of the brave soldier, but she dared not. It was protocol to never say the names of any deep cover agent out loud in an insecure room because it would break his cover, and there was always the chance that the mech next to you could be an agent for the other side.

Laughing and disentangling himself from the rose-armored femme, Jazz glanced up to Optimus, who wore an expression of the deepest relief. "So, Ah did good, boss bot?" Jazz asked.

"You did very good, Jazz" Optimus replied, leaning down to pat the Special Ops commander appreciatively on the shoulder. "You're more resourceful than I ever thought possible."

"Aw, come on now. Ah didn't do much," Jazz shrugged, though his grin remained. "The antivirus wouldn't be getting' here if it weren't fer my mech down in Kaon. It's all thanks ta him really."

Ultra Magnus gave the silver mech a couple good pats on the back, pitching him forward a bit. "I am so glad to hear that there _is_ a cure out there for Arcee," he said. "Primus knows, she's too young to be joining the Matrix." His optics spoke volumes of the guilt he felt for not being in the hangar to fight with Bumblebee and Arcee. "When will it be arriving?"

"Soon," Jazz replied. "A few orns at most."

"I've got to tell Chromia about this, she ought to know," Elita exclaimed. Her delicate hand went to Optimus's, grasping it tightly, smiling up at him with optics that sparkled with hope. _"I don't believe it, Optimus. A cure… the real antivirus. She's going to be okay." _She whispered the words carefully, as if she didn't believe them to be coming from her own vocal processor.

Leaning down to be level with her, Optimus was reminded of how very dazzlingly beautiful his mate was as she smiled at him with such genuine open love. He brushed a hand along her delicate faceplate, ignoring the impish glances exchanged between Jazz and Ultra Magnus. "Go on, let Chromia and Ironhide hear the good news," he said softly. "I believe they're still in the ICU with Arcee and Bumblebee?"

Elita sighed, nodding. Her smile faltered slightly. "Chromia hasn't left them once."

"I'm sure this will cheer her up."

With a final nod to Ultra Magnus and Jazz, the Femme Commander made her way down to the main level and out the doors, hanging a left towards the medical wing.

"Is there anything else, Jazz?" Optimus asked.

"Not right now, nothin', but once Ah find out when the antivirus is on its way, I'll let ya know," he said.

"Very well. Thank you, Jazz."

"No problem," the silver mech replied, turning and sidling back down the stairs. He caught the twins' optics and gave them a wide grin. He could tell they'd been listening in simply by the looks on their faceplates. Even the other bots in the command center were far more animated than they had been before as the word spread fast through private comms from those on the upper level to those on the lower. It would only be a matter of time until the rest of Iacon knew.

Exiting the command center in a far more controlled fashion than he did entering it, he nonetheless almost walked into another mech as the doors slid open and he tried to step out. This mech, though, certainly was not Bluestreak, even if their frame models did bare a striking amount of similarities. Jazz's optics brightened once more.

"Hey, Prowl, mah mech!" he greeted, only to have the tactician step around him silently and continue into the room. "Prowl? Prowl- don't ya want ta hear the news?"

Cool blue optics glanced back at him. "Perhaps some other time," he replied, heading to the upper level to hand over the latest replies from fellow Autobot bases pledging what supplies they could towards the Allspark mission.

Jazz's grin dropped. "Ah see… Alright, Ah'll tell ya later then," he shrugged, slipping into the hall. He wasn't surprised by Prowl's behaviour; the tactician had been keeping up a pretty good cold-shoulder act ever since Jazz had secured the 2IC position on the mission over him. It was an illogical grudge, but sometimes the spark won over the processor.

* * *

Chromia sat as a stubborn sentinel next to Arcee's cryogenic regeneration chamber, watching as the little femme drifted, floated; completely unaware of everything around her. The warrior femme had not moved from her post since the moment she sat down the few orns prior. Something in her spark wouldn't let her leave.

Nearby, leaning against the berth where Bumblebee lay, stood the stoic Ironhide, enwrapped in the gloom of the ICU as if he were being swallowed by it. His back was to Arcee, still unable to bear looking at her. Through the eerie half-light cast by the CR chamber, Chromia could see the gentle movements of her sparkmate as his hands ran over the little scout's battered form. He was being so uncharacteristically gentle that it broke her spark to watch.

"Ironhide, stop it. The drones have already done their rounds on Bumblebee, he's fine," Chromia said quietly, watching as her sparkmate paused in what he was doing, and then stopped completely.

"Look whose talking," he replied, his deep voice reverberating in the dim room. He didn't even bother to look around at her. "You're the one who's refused to leave Arcee's side for the past three orns."

"At least I can _look_ at her, Ironhide," she hissed.

"Don't start that again," he growled in reply.

"Big, tough, warrior Ironhide can't even turn around to face his own apprentice-."

"I said _MUTE IT_, femme!" he bellowed, spinning to face his sparkmate with blue fire alive in his optics. She was up in less than an astrosecond, her faceplate set and her fists ready for a fight.

"Don't you DARE speak to me that way!" she snarled. "You have been an unreasonable aft for the last few orns and I'm not taking anymore of it off of you!"

"I have NOT been an aft!"

"Then what do you call shutting me out from your spark, huh? Just mild irritation?! Punishment for something I didn't do?!"

His already massive frame seemed to swell in the gloom, looming over her dangerously, though she felt no fear for her bonded, only the fiery precipice of frustrated anger fuelled by stress. Chromia kept her ground, glaring back at Ironhide with equal fire in her optics. She poured every ounce of her stress, her anger, her frustration into their bond, force feeding him every bit of anguish she was suffering through because her adopted youngling was dying and all she felt from him was isolation.

A surprised gasp was shaken from her as thick arms came around her frame and hauled her up to be crushed against the hard, broad plane of her bonded's chest plating. She could feel the trembling in his frame, the effort it was costing him to resist her pain resonating in his spark and still keep the wall between them up.

"I haven't been doing this to punish you, you stupid femme," he rumbled in her audio receptor. "I've been trying to protect you-."

She loosed her right arm from its pinned position at her side and cut him across the faceplate to mute him. "Protect me!? Protect me from what- _Pain_?! I've been fighting the same war you have, Ironhide! You don't think I know what pain feels like?!"

Their gazes locked, optics glaring back at each other with more passion and rage alive in them than there ever had been before. Ironhide was the one to shutter his optics first, growling but relenting.

"Fine. Fine, you're right. I shouldn't have shut you out, you're my sparkmate, Chromia… I was just trying to- _Primus, _you're under so much stress already from me leaving, and now Bumblebee and Arcee. I didn't want to put you through anymore."

"You slagger, you think if I had a weak spark I ever would have considered being bonded to you in the first place?" Her hands were surprisingly gentle as they forced him to look at her again. "We're here for each other just as much as we're here for them," she nodded her head towards Bumblebee and Arcee. "I'm here for you as much as you're here for me- no matter how stupid you are at times. I _know_ you're hurting Ironhide, so am I, but we can't stand alone, not when we're about to be alone for so long while you're gone. We're stronger together."

"I guess I forgot."

"_Obviously."_

Without warning, the walls that had been built up to protect the femme from the backlash of guilt and regret that Ironhide had been suffering through alone fell in a mighty rush, flooding her with the most intense feelings of cold helplessly she had ever felt from her mate. Her limbs locked around the solid frame that held her tight, her own spark pulsing in time to the crying beats of its other half as it called to her through the layers of their armor. They were both shaking, allowing themselves for the first time to seek solace for the grief they were feeling.

Unbeknownst to them, Bumblebee stirred lightly. His vital signs fluxed enough for the medic on duty to be alerted, which just so happened to be Ratchet, who came into the ICU to check out the scouts status and just so happened to come upon the pair of shaking, clinging bots. A rapid-fire scan revealed that they were not suffering from a full systems seize as he first thought, but instead suffering through a loop of emotions and sensations being fed through the sparkbond.

Still not on even terms with Ironhide, the CMO seized the both of them and gave them a good jerk in opposite directions, shocking them enough to tone down the feedback loop.

"Get out of here if you're going to be pulling stupid stunts like that, you masochists," he grunted.

"Frag off, medic," Ironhide groused.

Ratchet snorted at them through his vents, turning to Bumblebee's still form to begin scans over him. It seems the numerous recalibrations that he had been undergoing for the past few orns were helping greatly to speed his recovery along.

"Chromia! Chromia, Ironhide! Come here, please! You really need to hear this!" Elita's light voice burst through the thickening gloom of the ICU like a ray of brilliant light, her lithe form slipping through the rows of berths with delicate ease. She was waving to them, beckoning them towards her. Chromia was the first to respond, heading to her commander, giving her bonded a sharp tug to remind him that he was being called as well. Ratchet peered up from his work to watch the Femme Commander's approach.

She stopped in a flourish of light sparked laughter, embracing her friend tightly. Chromia pulled away to stare at her friend quizzically. "What's wrong with you?" the dusky-blue femme asked.

"Nothing's wrong! Nothing is wrong at all! In fact, it's the best it has been in a long, long time!"

"Elita, what are you not telling us?" Ironhide rumbled.

"_An antivirus_," she replied wondrously. "A mech from Special Ops stationed in Kaon has somehow come upon an antivirus for Arcee and he is bringing it here for her! She's going to be okay!"

In the few astroseconds it took for Elita to speak those sweet, sweet words, every dead weight that had settled on Chromia and Ironhide's shoulders suddenly lifted. All the air felt as if it had been swept from their intakes and they were left breathless and speechless. Thanks to their renewed bond, the hope that they felt was strengthened as it cycled through one bot to the other.

Ratchet finally spoke up. "Are you sure, Elita? This is not just a false alarm?"

"As far as Jazz and his mech can tell, the antivirus is real and it's like nothing they've ever seen before."

"If it's like nothing they've ever seen before, then I don't trust it. I want to do a full spectrum scan of it before it goes anywhere near anyone of my patient's systems."

"Do it, do as many scans as you like, Ratchet," Elita replied, her optics sparkling. "You won't find a single line of code out of place, it's immaculate."

Chromia's faceplate split into the truest grin she'd ever dared to wear for the past few orns. Her spark was soaring on a high that was lifted up by both her own joy and that of Ironhide resonating with her. They weren't hurting anymore.

"I never gave up hope, Elita," she whispered excitedly to her best friend. "I never did. I never gave up hope!" Once more she was embraced by her best friend and commander.

"I know Chromia, I know. Now I think it's time you get to the wash racks, give yourself a good scrubbing, and then follow your sparkmate back to your quarters for some well deserved recharge. You both need it desperately. Bumblebee is going to be alright, and now Arcee is too- it's time to look after yourselves."

Chromia was nodding along, smiling, her optics dancing. She spun on her heel and darted back to Arcee's CR chamber, pressing herself to the glass to look up at the small, delicate frame suspended within. "You hear that, little one? It's coming, the antivirus is coming just for you."

Ironhide came up behind her gently and slid her arms around her frame, lifting her with far more grace than he had before. "I think she knows," he whispered. He carried her out without a protest on behalf of his elated sparkmate, intent on throwing himself and her into the wash racks for a well deserved cleaning.

* * *

"_BarriBarriBarricade!" _

"Mute it already!"

"_Nonononononono_!"

There was no stopping the quicksilver blur as it ducked about the confined space of Barricade's shared quarters- his roommate had found temporary lodging elsewhere as soon as it became apparent that Frenzy was nothing but a pain in the aft. First he was here, then he was there, and at one point it looked like he had defied gravity and skittered across the ceiling. Frenzy's overly energetic condition was due in part to the spark surge that occurred during the reformatting, hiss entire system from neural wires to energon lines were being bombarded with excess radiation pulsing off his own spark as it grew more accustomed to its smaller confinements. Barricade had been told that the energy would wear off in a little while and the silver creature would calm down, but so far that wasn't happening.

All Barricade was getting out of the deal so far was a planet sized headache and the urge to shoot something small and silver. He didn't even have Soundwave to consult over the matter since the imposing mech had sealed himself away in his own lab a few orns ago, and Primus forbid if Barricade were to ever seek counsel with Blackout over the matter of symbiotic relationships.

A humoured laugh floated in from his doorway. Before he even looked up, he knew it was Flamewar standing there watching him.

"Come to laugh at me too?" he growled. "Go ahead, the other fraggers haven't muted it once since the reformatting."

"I'm not here to laugh," she replied, slipping further into the room to slide up next to Barricade's side. "How are you feeling?"

"I still feel like slag."

Small hands rested upon the tense cables in his neck, soothing them with gentle strokes. "Maybe I could fix that?"

Barricade gave an approving rev that vibrated through both of them. "Be my guest." He leaned forward to allow better access to the painfully tense cables in his neck and back beneath all his jet-black armor. Delicate fingers worked their way in.

"Is it really that bad?" Flamewar inquired, her optics tracking Frenzy's erratic movement about the room.

"_Yes." _

A sigh drifted from her. "There could be some sort of advantage to this arrangement," she said. "It can't all be detrimental to you or Starscream wouldn't have placed you on this mission with Frenzy- he's not the kind of mech to weaken his own team on purpose."

"There is hardly a tactical advantage to barely being able to concentrate on anything while your processor is being bombarded by useless, nonsensical information. All the little glitch does is run around chattering. It'll be a while until he calms down enough to regain enough sense to start hacking and tactical work again."

"So, you're having a hard time concentrating on anything?" she asked rhetorically. Her legs came around him, drawing him deeper into her clutches. "I can help that."

"How so?"

She leaned up to his audio receptor, the purr in her voice setting his internals on fire. "I'll _make_ you concentrate on me."

Barricade shot up from his berth, spinning around to pin the femme down. "That won't be hard," he growled. She stretched out beneath him, a buffet for the optics, and Barricade devoured her hungrily.

Piqued by the sudden surge of energy coming from his aroused partner, Frenzy skittered over and wedged himself between the pair. _"Prettyprettyprettyfemme!" _he chattered. _"Inter-inter-interface! Woo-hoo!" _

Flamewar gave a screech, jerking away from the tiny faceplate that was suddenly thrust into hers. Barricade roared his fury, rearing back and grabbing his symbiotic partner. Out of sheer thoughtless rage at being interrupted, he chucked the poor little bot down the hall, watching with satisfaction as he skidded along the corridor before coming to an abrupt halt upon hitting the wall at the end.

Turning back into his quarters, he stared hard at Flamewar as she struggled to compose herself. "This was a bad idea," he grunted. "You shouldn't have to see me like this- you should just leave-."

She shot up from the berth. "Is that some form of a joke?" she demanded incredulously.

"No. In this condition… with Frenzy messing with my processor like this, with him getting in the way… it's just weak. You shouldn't have to be subjected to this…"

"You have got some nerve saying that to me, Barricade," Flamewar hissed, marching up to him to be faceplate to faceplate. "I risked my _rank_ to be involved with a mech of lower status like you; I risked my _spark_ to fall in love with you, and now you're shoving me away because you don't want me to see you _weak_?" She gave him a good hard shove to the chassis, throwing him back into the wall. "I've been to pit and back for this relationship, you half-bit glitch, and I won't be pushed away for the simple matter of _weakness_." Her forehead pressed to his, forcing her frame into the angles of his so that he felt every bit of what she had to offer. "If you don't want to be _weak_ then get _stronger_."

She released him suddenly, moving to the door. It slid open before she got there, admitting Frenzy into the room once more. The microbot ran fast around her feet and made a quick break for the safety of his carrying compartment within Barricade's chassis before his partner had a chance to throw him again. The femme tracked the silver mech's progress, watching as he evaded Barricade's sharp claws. Her optics eventually found their way back to Barricade's.

"You better get stronger soon, because I'm only willing to wait for you for so long."

* * *

"…so, let me get this straight. You want to throw a party in Nebula One… in honour of Arcee's antivirus?"

Sideswipe nodded quickly, his devious grin never faltering once from his handsome faceplate. Sunstreaker rolled his optics rolled his optics, wanting to have no part of this ridiculous scheming. The only reason they were holed up in Wheeljack's lab was because it was the only semi-private place that they knew no one dared go around for fear of something blowing up, making it the perfect place to plan something. Only thing was, the head engineer had gotten curious and now he was involved.

Wheeljack hefted himself up onto his worktable next to the arm he was reconstructing for Arcee. He stared at the twins in pure disbelief. "Ya haven't by any chance had any high-grade in the last little while, have ya…?"

The red melee warrior's grin turned to a pout. "Can't I do something nice without being under the influence of something?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "Don't know, can ya?"

"Not even if you paid him," Sunstreaker snorted.

"Hey, I've done nice things in the past!" Sideswipe exclaimed in defence of himself.

"Name three," he twin challenged.

"…_slaggit." _

"See, you're as bad as I am, except not as good looking."

"You're a glitch, you know that?"

Wheeljack sighed, holding up his hands to draw the attention back to the pending party instead to the fight that was bound to break out between the brothers. "Alright you two, not in the lab- too many explosive things in here for you to be adding your explosive tempers to the mix." He turned to Sideswipe. "What bring on this unusual show of generosity now?"

"Look, everyone's been having a hard time, right? Bumblebee is like everyone's little brother and what's happened with Arcee and that virus shook up a lot of bots. I just figured that with the cure on the way, something to mark the occasion and help de-stress everyone was in order."

"And ya think a drunken party is the thing?"

"High-grade is the answer to almost any of Sideswipe's problems," Sunstreaker replied.

"Sunny, mute it!" Sideswipe snapped. "I'm being serious for once! I want to throw this party to take our processors off all the slag that's gone on lately. Some good times and high-grade never hurt no one!"

Wheeljack leaned back pensively. He knew from his own observations that life in Iacon was at an all time high stress level from the Allspark mission weighing on everyone's shoulders, coupled with every other bit of slag that's happened since. Ratchet, stepping beyond his usual ornery self, had risen to a new level of surly that had mechs running from the med bay before they even before they go to the doors. The medic was already suffering from his first two meltdowns, if he happened to go through a third in such a short amount of time there was no telling what would happen to him.

"I'm beginning ta think a party might not be too bad," he said slowly. "It really would help ta de-stress the place. Primus only knows it's a matter of time before some poor mech cracks…"

"You willing to help, then?" Sideswipe inquired carefully.

"I could spare a couple things here and there," replied the engineer. "And if ya need a place ta store any of the high-grade I know you're goin' ta be brewin' fer this, my lab's here. Nobody comes in here but me, so it'll be safe… well, relatively speakin'."

Sideswipe slid from his seat on the worktable across from the engineer, his optics absolutely glittering. "You're serious? We can use this place as headquarters?"

"Yeah, sure, I don't see why not," Wheeljack replied, shrugging. "Just try not ta disturb anything an' ya should be alright."

"You're the best, 'Jack!" Sideswipe exclaimed.

"Ah, well, I ain't doin' much…" he laughed. "It's really fer Ratchet, y'know? He an' the others really need somethin' like this ta let 'em unwind a bit without havin' ta worry fer a couple of breems."

"Maybe if we somehow drag Prowl into the party too he'll calm down a bit," Sunstreaker grumbled. He was leaning against the workbench, shifting from one foot to the other. "He's been a real glitch for the past few orns- more than usual. You can't even look at him the wrong way without spending time in the brig."

"He was always a mech that was wound a little tight," Wheeljack sighed.

"This is great, thanks for all your help, Wheeljack," Sideswipe said, making his way towards the door to begin his gathering of supplies and general all around scheming. Sunstreaker sighed and followed after his brother.

"Think he suspects anything?" he asked.

Sideswipe cocked his head to the side, considering the question. "Nah, he'd never guess this was your idea in the first place."

* * *

Starscream loomed over the small form of Counterpunch as the mech darted about nervously under his leader's gaze. The unlucky little bot was preparing his ship for his departure with Virus's payment. Loading the energon cubes, shuddering under Starscream's gaze, carefully handling the Centaurie Tetrax high-grade as if it were made of glass, shying away from his leader's razor claws as they dangled a little too close for comfort.

"Will you be ready to depart soon?" Starscream inquired sharply, causing the mech to jump timidly.

"Yes, sir, I believe so. The ship only needs to be properly refuelled and I will be ready for launch," Counterpunch replied quickly.

"The sooner the better," the Seeker said, glaring. "I want that abomination paid off so she can go on with her miserable life and leave me the pit alone."

"Yes sir," the mech nodded, willing to agree with anything his leader said.

Starscream fixed him with an approving stare. Such mindless loyalty and willingness to follow orders was something that he could certainly get used to. The mech might be useful sometime in the future when Starscream returned from his mission with the Allspark in hand.

"Good. Carry on with whatever you were doing." He left the mech to his appointed tasks, wondering over to the greater part of the hangar that was devoted to the sole purpose of the _Nemesis_. He stared up at the ventral side of the ship with hunger in his optics.

"We're almost finished with the modifications," Scrapper said, suddenly appearing behind Starscream. "It won't be long now until the ship can be launched."

"What are the exact modifications that the Constructicons have made to the _Nemesis?_"

"As you could guess, we've reinforced the hull and overhauled the thrusters to give you a hundred and twenty five percent output. Slipstream wings have been reinforced and shields have been upgraded for maximum yield."

"And weapons?"

Scrapper regarded the ship that towered impressively above. Thanks to the non-stop orns he and his team had been working on the ship, he now knew the _Nemesis_ more intimately than even his own frame. "It's a deep space exploration ship first and foremost, so there wasn't a lot of room to fit too many armaments on it without weighing it down, but we did throw in a couple of nasty surprises just in case you in encounter any trouble out there."

"_Excellent_," Starscream hissed. "What about the preparations being made for the Iacon attack?"

"My work has solely been on the _Nemesis,_" Scrapper replied curtly. "If you want to know anything about the attack on Iacon, go ask that lumbering fool Motormaster."

A harsh laugh lifted from Starscream, causing the Constructicon leader to tense.

"You have been locked in this hangar for over three orns working on that ship, Scrapper. I'm quite sure that you know more about what's going on than what you care to let on. Instead of me wasting my time going to that "lumbering fool" Motormaster to find out information you already know, why don't you tell me right now and I won't shoot you on ground of contempt."

With a derisive snort, the gestalt leader snarled out, "From what I've heard, the attack force will be ready by perhaps late tomorrow. I know nothing beyond that- it is Stunticon work, not Constructicon."

"Fine, then get back to work fit for a Constructicon," Starscream ordered, dismissing the other mech quickly. The Seeker stood in his place for the short while longer, staring up into the broad, dark hull of the Nemesis. He could almost see in the thick metal plating the flames of Iacon as it burned to the ground, the last hope for the Autobots finally being destroyed. He smiled wickedly at the delicious thought.

"It's only a matter of time now until the end."


	15. Of Autobots and Decepticons II

* * *

As always, thank you so much to my dear, dear reviewers! You are truly the inspiring forces that keep this fic going! A thousand thanks to **Litahatchee, theshadowcat, Bluebird Soaring, Dragonwolf, Bunnylass, lady tecuma**, and **Violet Light**!

The dedication to this chapter must be shared in a three way between the dearest **Litahachee, lady tecuma, and Violet Light**. You three have been the greatest advice givers and beta-ers, and everything else under the sun!

_Punch/Counterpunch_- Um… I just want to get this out there, since it appears that some readers might believe that Punch/Counterpunch is an OC. He's really not, I promise. He's just a really obscure Autobot that showed up in the very last episodes of G1. Sorry for any confusion.

_Alaksmi- _The name of the ship that Counterpunch and Flamewar are on. It was named after the Hindu goddess of bad luck.

_Nightshade- _There is a very brief mentioning of Nightshade in this chapter, referring to her as Soundwave's apprentice. She is an OC created by Violet Light and all credit goes to her! Thank you **Violet Light**!

* * *

Ever since Punch was first approached by Jazz for the dangerous mission of infiltrating Kaon and essentially become a Decepticon amongst the ranks, the mech's life had been nothing but danger. He had to be vigilant at all times, aware of whom he was pretending to be and never _ever_ let it overlap with who he really was.

The moment he had agreed to become Counterpunch for his commander, he divided himself in two; separated his processor into two beings of completely separate identities. First of all, there was the Autobot Punch- a skilled, level-headed special ops agent, a proficient warrior, and an Autobot through and through. And then there was the Decepticon Counterpunch, a low ranking solider with little special about him, hardly noticeable enough to show upon radar, intimidated easily and far too quiet; traits that were bad for the overall Decepticon image, but he was tolerated because his superiors like to kick someone around once in a while and he was the perfect target.

Two completely different mechs; two completely different factions; he had to be clever, quick, and devious to keep each separate and keep himself alive. Sometimes, though, it was easier said than done. This was one of those times.

"So- uh, how's our ETA looking?" Counterpunch asked, glancing over at the black-armored femme sitting next to him.

Flamewar's optics narrowed, fingers quickly tapping out across the controls in front of her. "A few more joors before we reach the rendezvous point," she replied curtly.

"Right… uh, thank you…" he replied awkwardly.

They continued to fly on in silence, the small ship they flew making no noise around them except for a dull hum and the occasional chinking from the energon cubes in the cargo hold. Every so often, the Autobot spy would glance over at his company, watching her discreetly from the corner of his optic. He had received no actual explanation for her presence on the mission as of yet- she had simply showed up moments before the launch, boarded, and grabbed one of the only two seats on the tiny ship and sat down so adamantly that Counterpunch dared not question her actions. Asking her their ETA was the first time he had spoken to her at all.

"Stop looking at me like that," the femme snapped, finally getting fed up the glances thrown her way.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" the mech spouted quickly.

A harsh laugh cut from Flamewar, her belief in the sincerity his apology all but non-existent. "Of course you didn't,' she sneered.

"No, really, I didn't-!" The femme's sharp glare cut him off. "_Oh frag_, _never mind_…" Instantly, his optics jerked to the view screen and stayed there. Punch may have still been wary of the Femme Commander's volatile presence, but he had Counterpunch's timidity to maintain; he sagged in his seat and made himself as small and invisible as possible, giving off the perfect image of a cowardly and intimidated peon of the Decepticon's lower ranks.

Satisfied that her companion had been rightfully shoved into his place, Flamewar returned to ignoring him, carrying on with her navigational duties as if he weren't there.

Silence hung heavily between them once more, heavy and a little threatening. They flew on for another half a joor like that; Counterpunch flying, Flamewar navigating, and neither of them acknowledging the other. Adjusting their altitude, Counterpunch snuck one last glance at Flamewar before cutting into the oppressive silence.

"So, Flamewar…"

Her sharp, red gaze flashed dangerously, misinterpreting his tone. "No, I will not interface with you," she hissed.

"No! No, no, no, that's not what I was going to ask-! I'd never! I swear it! I'm just a low-ranking bot!" Counterpunch stuttered wildly. Secretly, Punch was grimacing to himself in utter disgust, thinking dourly to himself, '_that's the __**last **__thing I'd ask you, Decepticon!' _His "other self" continued to spout nonsense nonetheless. "I'd never dare presume that I had a chance with you! You're too good for me! You'd never sink so low! You're obviously with Barri-!"

Flamewar hissed, effectively cutting him off. "Alright! I get it! If that wasn't what you were going to ask, then ask now!"

"Yes! Yes, of course!" Counterpunch made a show of drawing in several calming drags of air in through his intakes. "I was simply wondering- uh, _why_ you're on this mission- with me, that is…. By all means, this could have easily been taken of by me alone. Not that I don't appreciate the company of such a fine warrior as yourself! This is such a lowly mission for you to be wasting your time on- not that I think you're wasting your timeI'm sure you know exactly how to manage your time! No wasting at all!" he scrambled pathetically to get to the point. "What I mean to say is- well, I mean, I simply _assumed_ that you would rather stay at Kaon with Barri- _ah_, with the rest of the Decepticons, rather than come with a low-ranking officer like me on a ship like the _Alaksmi _to pay off a dangerous mercenary like Virus."

Once more, her dangerous red optics narrowed. "My situation in Kaon has become somewhat _tumultuous_ as of recently. This mission is serving as a reprieve."

"A dangerous mercenary is considered a reprieve?"

"Virus was once a femme under my command, if you haven't forgotten. Dangerous as she is, she was once my subordinate," Flamewar said acidly. "She is far more a reprieve than dealing with Starscream would be. I'd choose her over him any orn."

"Right, of course!" Counterpunch chirruped quickly, not willing to further incense the femme who was just as liking to shoot him as tolerate him.

Flamewar rolled her optics in annoyance, deeming him hardly worth her full attention any longer. She went back to her navigational work.

Punch smiled discretely to himself; now that he had established that he was both a coward and a pushover, it would be far easier to probe the femme for more information without her seeing him as a threat. "So…ah- yeah, how- how are things back in Kaon for you? I mean, '_tumultuous_' right? Between you and Barricade…"

Flamewar snorted, her optics fixed to the view screen ahead of her. It was not uncommon for the private lives of bots, who was getting laid and how often, to be the main subject of discussion or gloating. As Punch had hoped, she saw his questioning as not suspicious but that of a mundane annoyance.

"None of your business," she replied sharply. "He is still having a difficult time adjusting to the…_change_." She said the word with so much venom in her voice that it caused a shiver to pass through Counterpunch; he truly feared for whomever the femme's wrath was directed at. "He has been unable to _perform _for the last few orns. His symbiote is something of a constant hindrance."

"His symbiote? Oh- right, Frenzy…" Counterpunch busied himself with the flight controls, puzzling over how to carry on the awkward conversation. "So... this must be difficult for Soundwave, too? Am I right? Frenzy was his in the first place, after all. I know that he hasn't said much about the reformatting, but I bet this whole thing has been really hard on him…"

The femme dropped all pretence of trying to keep the conversation short and sparse, opting to stare incredulously at the talkative mech. The way he was talking, it sounded very much like he _cared_ about the other mech. "Keep your concerns to yourself, Counterpunch," she warned, snorting a little. "With all that caring spark-to-spark slag you're spouting, one might think you're an Autobot in disguise."

The ship suddenly took a near-vertical dive as Counterpunch faltered with the controls. "No! No way in the pit! I'd never be one of those self-righteous, whiney slaggers!" he protested. "Deactivate myself first! I'd never be an Autobot!"

A sharp laugh cut him off. "Then stop caring about how every other mech is and worry about your own aft instead- if I ever hear of you going Autobot on anyone again, I'll shoot you down myself."

"I'll remember that," Counterpunch replied squeakily, levelling the ship with shaking hands.

Another sharp laugh cut the air, but the femme's faceplate was softer now- if only fractionally. She was growing accustomed to the fumbling mech. "Though, if you really want to know how Soundwave is doing, he is… surviving. His remaining symbiotes are seeing to him, as is his apprentice, Nightshade. They are doing all that can be done to consol their master."

The mech nodded slowly. "Well, I guess that's all anyone can ask for."

"Their consoling will help little as soon as the Nemesis is launched along side the Kaon armada for the attack on Iacon, though," Flamewar shrugged. "Frenzy will be in the cold clutches of space while Soundwave remains here on this husk of a planet to fight."

A cold thrill shot through Punch's spark. "W-what do you mean? What attack? What launch?"

"The attack on Iacon; the launch of the Nemesis," she reiterated. "Honestly, have you been wandering around Kaon with your optics offline? All the preparations that have been taking place? Motormaster and the Stunticons being unreasonably boorish now that they have to conduct all the attack patterns instead of just busting their way through the frontlines like they usually do? The Constructicons working around the clock on the Nemesis?"

The cold thrill that had shot through Punch at first was quickly becoming an icy death grip on his spark. "I- I haven't heard anything…"

"Then you really have been wandering around the base with your optics and audios offline," Flamewar replied waspishly. "Kaon is about to raze Iacon in a few orns- it was supposed to be kept confidential between Commanders, so, inevitably, all of Kaon knows- aside from you."

"_Primus…"_ Counterpunch was fumbling with the controls now worse than ever. His intakes were wheezing with the desperate rate he was dragging air in. "A-are you sure about this?"

"Of course I'm sure." She fixed him with a suspicious stare. "I'm surprised you haven't heard anything."

"I-I've been too busy preparing this ship for transport," Counterpunch whined. His processors were firing erratically with the panic that was setting in. He hadn't so much as caught a whisper of what was going on; he'd been too preoccupied with obtaining the antivirus and preparing the ship! "When- when is the attack supposed to be launched?"

"Soon," Flamewar replied. "Last I heard, it was set for the end of tomorrow."

"That- that's _great_," he replied, his voice cracking. There was no way in the pit that he was going to be able to make this trip, get back to Kaon, and then get the antivirus to Iacon in time! He was either going to have to think of something fast or leave Iacon to a grisly fate.

A melody of chirrups and beeps brought the navigational controls to life. The Femme Commander leaned over it and observed their status, completely oblivious to the internal dilemma that her fellow shipmate was suffering through.

"We are nearing the specified coordinates for the rendezvous with Virus," she announced. "We're a little late, so she's not going to be in the best of moods from waiting; I hope you have that antivirus ready."

A sudden calm air swept through the mech as a new plan flooded into his processor. Counterpunch's faceplate faltered momentarily, letting Punch's cold resolve seep through; he knew what he was going to do now. His optics fell to the femme's, one hand moving to wrap tightly over the compartment where the little vital chip was stored.

"Yeah, I have it right here…"

Virus was about to be double-crossed.

* * *

Ratchet ran hastily behind the skittering silver form of the little drone racing ahead of him. Only moments before, Tungsten had shown up in the med bay gesturing wildly for the CMO to follow, scrabbling at the medic's leg armor in attempts to drag him. Having seen this behaviour demonstrated numerous times before when the Wheeljack had blown himself up and Tungsten was left to seek help, Ratchet was immediately up and ready to follow the drone to the source of its distress. Surprisingly though, the drone did not turn towards Wheeljack's lab as it normally did when an accident occurred. Instead, it was wildly skittering in the opposite direction.

"Frag it, Tungsten, I'm coming!" cursed the medic, dodging around milling mechs in the corridor as the little drone darted between legs and under feet. Ratchet tracked its quicksilver progress with sharp optics, watching its desperate movements. Something really bad must have happened for it to be acting to fretfully.

Just as they turned into another hall, the CMO was nearly bowled over by a mass of hulking black armor swinging into the same corridor.

"Watch where you're going, medic!" Ironhide barked as he manoeuvred around the obstruction that was Ratchet.

"I'm heading to a medical emergency, you glitch! Watch where you're going!" Ratchet snapped back. "Get out of my way!"

Chromia shoved herself between the pair of mechs, forcing them apart. "Lay off, the both of you!" she shouted. "You get to your medical emergency, Ratchet, and we'll see to the brawl that broke out in Nebula One!"

Ratchet snorted contemptuously. "Knowing the mechs around here, the problems are probably one and the same."

A quick series of metallic tapping sounded from up ahead, the three bots jerking their gazes up to watch as Wheeljack's drone stomped its feet wildly to catch their attention, and then proceeded to go on the fritz as it pleaded with them to follow it. Submitting to the fact that they were all headed in the same direction, the three bots fell into a quick run after the drone with minimal shoving on Ironhide and Ratchet's parts.

"Do you know what's happened for that little drone to be acting like that?" Chromia asked, watching as Tungsten practically flew through the halls before them.

"It's something that concerns Wheeljack, nothing good for that matter," Ratchet replied. "Tungsten is programmed to seek me out immediately if ever Wheeljack injures himself severely and is unable to call for help- the more frantic the drone is, the more severe the injury Wheeljack has sustained."

Ironhide glared down at the little streak of silver, watching at it ran, waved, jumped, and skittered at a furious pace, pleading with the three bots to hurry. "At the rate its going, I'd say Wheeljack's dead."

Coming upon a four-way intersection of the halls, a small red blur flew out from the right and collided with Tungsten, sending both of them skidding. Jazz and Prowl followed shortly afterward, though thankfully stopping before they crashed into the other three bots.

Blaster disentangled himself from the drone, picking himself up and hauling the silver drone up after him. The moment it was standing and stable, Tungsten was off yet again, sprinting like a wild thing down the bright metal hallway. Blaster stared for an astrosecond at the rapidly disappearing back before he remembered his original task.

"C'mon! Don't just stand around!" he shouted to the five bots as he took off sprinting after the skinny silver drone. Despite their small sizes, both Tungsten and Blaster proved to be speedy forerunners, always managing to keep a few paces ahead of those they were urging to follow. Blaster's optics were bright with mischief as he glanced behind him, picking up his speed marginally so as not to be run over by the encroaching bots. His grin was purely devious; things were going exactly according to plan.

Ratchet exchanged a wary look with Prowl as they ran. "What are you here for?" he asked.

"Something concerning the twins," Prowl replied.

"Ah was told that they got in ta some o' mah private programs," Jazz said.

Ratchet's expression darkened. "The ones you were supposed to delete a couple of orns ago?"

Jazz laughed. "Yeah, those."

"And what requires your presence down this way?" Prowl inquired, looking from Ratchet to Ironhide and Chromia.

"Wheeljack," the CMO grunted.

"A brawl," Ironhide grunted.

Chromia's optics narrowed. "Does anyone else get the feeling we're all being led somewhere?" she asked. "Like we're being set up?"

"Vaguely," Ratchet growled.

The situation became even more surreal as they barrelled down on Nebula One's entrance, met step for step by Optimus and Elita coming from the opposite direction. Finally having everyone where they were supposed to be, Tungsten settled down instantly to stand accordingly at Blaster's side. The microbot himself stood with a Cheshire grin, waiting for all seven bots to assemble at the end of their chase before he did anything.

"What's the meaning of this, Blaster?" Optimus asked, curiously looking around at his fellow Autobots for answers to questions they all were wondering. He towered over his communications officer, staring down expectantly. "Where's the emergency?"

Undaunted by his commander's intimidating size, Blaster grinned up at the many looming faces above him. He stepped back to activate Nebula One's door controls, the pneumatic hiss it issued easily drowned out by the roar of greeting that flooded out as it opened.

"Why, right here, Boss Bot. _You're _the emergency."

* * *

Now more than ever was Kaon bustling with eccentric energy; word had spread quickly that the Nemesis had been finished ahead of schedule and that the Stunticons had gotten along long enough to formulate a half-bit battle plan in which everyone could follow. As it stood now, the launch was going to come early. Starscream was stopping at nothing to intimidate every warrior under his command to pick up the pace double time and get what they needed to get done as quickly as possible.

Barricade cursed fluently to himself as he took his desperate search of Kaon to the lower levels of the base, then to the brig, and through the scarcely traveled wings of the base that were rarely used. He was one of the few that paid little heed to the megalomaniacal dictations of Starscream as the Decepticon leader shouted himself into a meltdown in the main hangar. Though Barricade combed the rooms and halls as finely as he could, his search was in vain. No where on the base could he find Flamewar; no scan he rendered detected her, no search found her, no threat to an underling divulged her whereabouts. Nobody had seen her for a few joors; it was as if she completely disappeared.

Unheeding of the passing drones in the corridor, the mech stormed his way through, furious that he was unable to locate his femme. He would be leaving soon on the Nemesis, it would only be a matter of breems now, and he was desperate to seek out Flamewar's company, to speak with her. He had to tell her that he was stronger now, that she didn't have to wait for him. His persistence with the constant annoyance of Frenzy had yielded a somewhat improved disposition between them; finally the little symbiote had calmed down, if only marginally.

He had things to say to Flamewar before he left; he had promises to make so that he had something to look forward to upon his return. Decepticons be fragged, he'd make Flamewar his sparkmate!

Too caught up in his own frustrations, Barricade failed to realize that his carrying hold which normally housed Frenzy was curiously empty. It had been empty for a while. The little symbiote, who had bore witness to his partner's plaintive desperation for the company of his femme, had taken it upon himself to seek her out. He knew exactly where to go to begin his search too; the command center was the best place to access the internal scans and security footage to locate anyone.

As a darting silver shadow, he scurried along the floor amongst the large, dangerous feet of even larger and more dangerous mechs. Briefly in his processor, he registered that he had once worked in the command center, seeing to the incoming and outgoing communications that filtered in and out of Kaon.

Had it not been for the rapidly firing energy that carried through his system as an aftershock effect to his reformatting, he would have remembered exactly whom he had learned his communicational talents from. Unfortunately, it was still only a blur of overwhelmed circuits and half formed processes; faceplates and designations resonating in ghostly spurts in his vocal processor before drifting away as if they had never been there. There was important designations to be recalled, memories that were precious and vital to him that were meant to be saved, and yet he was currently in a fog that allowed for them to simply be let go.

Some orn, things were going to straighten out and he'd remember, but not now.

Now was the time to put his talents to good use. Through the bond that they shared, Frenzy could feel the sheer desperation with which his partner sought the femme designated Flamewar. It was a pain in the aft to be bombarded with the other mech's erratic emotions, though Frenzy failed to see the irony in thinking so when it was his own erratic presence that bothered Barricade to no end.

With tiny fingers moving at lightening speeds, the microbot accessed Kaon's data banks and immediately set to work. Footage, files, records- anything that could have possibly pertained to the whereabouts of Flamewar were opened up and displayed across the numerous screens that the command center housed.

Aside from Frenzy and the number of drones looking after the vitals of the base, the room was starkly empty of any life.

A called came over the comms, Frenzy only half listening as the raspy of Starscream's voice traveled through the base. He was calling to his mechs, ordering the remaining warriors to assemble in the hanger immediately; the launch of the Nemesis and the attack on Iacon was about to commence shortly. A string of curses issued venomously from Frenzy as he sped through his work, searching out every byte of data he could possibly find that might reveal Flamewar's whereabouts.

"_FlameFlameFlamewar!" _he hissed quickly.

From behind him came large, dark arms, settling on the consol on which the microbot worked furiously. Quick fingers raced across the keys, inputting information at a furious pace that it even made Frenzy dizzy. The silver mech backed off somewhat, submitting to the presence that was now looming over him from behind. It was a solid wall of silence, of stoic strength. There was a stirring in his spark as initial identification scans recognized the resonance of the other mech's spark; it was a frequency that he knew well, a connection that was once there but now no longer. He could not grasp the designation that haunted him.

In the oppressive silence, a single screen lit up with the security footage of the hangar only a few joors prior to their present moment. The image of the beautiful and deadly Flamewar slid into focus, walking with purpose towards the _Alaksmi _that Counterpunch was busy preparing, boarding it without a single word.

Frenzy chattered happily, downloading the information so that he could give it to Barricade the moment he met back up with him.

Registering that he might want to thank the mech that had so kindly come out of nowhere to assist him, Frenzy hissed a continuous string of thank you's without even glancing back at his company. Not a word came as a reply.

Done with the acquisition of the footage, Frenzy turned to the shadows behind him, preparing to leave. All his actions ceased as his optics were caught by the immense presence behind him, the towering wall of dark, dark metal, and a slice of glowing red light far above him that emanated from the mech's visor. The symbiote's spark skipped a pulse, struck by the utter familiarity that this mech posed. The unreadable expression that crossed the large mech's faceplate disturbed the little silver bot; he knew he was supposed to recognize the figure, but for the life of him, he couldn't.

Chalking it up to misfiring neutral wires in his processor, Frenzy skittered off the consol he was perched on. Through his bond, he knew innately where to find his partner within Kaon, though it wouldn't have taken a genius to figure out that he was in the hangar with everyone else now. He paused in the doorway, turning back to the mech to who stood unmoved from the place where Frenzy had left him. A suddenly burst of clarity passed through the silver symbiote, the fog lifting somewhat for a single, random name to float through.

"_Thank you- thank you- thank you- Soundwave."_

The microbot completely missed the flash of surprise that crossed his Creator's faceplate.

Finding Barricade was easy enough, getting to him was another matter altogether. With so many mechs milling around the hangar and on the _Nemesis,_ it was like running the gauntlet in order to reach the black armored mech, and then it was another story all together trying to get Barricade to understand where he had been without getting thrown across the room.

"My internals were nearly smeared across the walls thanks to you," Barricade hissed as he grabbed the symbiote in a tight, clawed grip. "Starscream was throwing a conniption because he had to stall the launch for you!"

"_Sorry!Sorry!Sorry!Sorry!" _

"You're going to be when I'm through with you. Where in the pit were you?"

"_FindingfindingfindingFlamewar!" _

A jolt of anxiety shot through Barricade, passing second hand into Frenzy. "Finding Flamewar? Did you find her? Do you know where she is?"

Frenzy scrambled into his holding compartment, instantly connecting with Barricade's systems in a disturbing way that his partner doubted he would ever get used to. In a very quick exchange of information, he was suddenly very aware of where his femme was and how very far away she was from him.

It seemed that he would not be able to make his promise to her, after all.

Starscream glided by with an air of pompous superiority. The smirk across his faceplate appeared permanently fixed. "Get in the ship," he ordered, fully aware that the last and smallest member of his chosen crew had finally decided to show up. "We're about to launch."

* * *

"_Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" _

The silver drone to whom Slingshot crooned continued to stand unaffected by the Aerialbot's advances. The mech's team mates, on the other hand, rolled with over-energized laughter as they watched their comrade's sorry attempts at picking up the drone- it was the equivalent of him coming on to a chair. Although, he might have more luck with a chair…

Around them, the party was in full swing. Mechs and femmes from all over Iacon had somehow managed to wander off their shifts and into Nebula One, taking in the festivities with enlightened expressions. Blaster was somewhere in the room, belting out sound bytes he'd downloaded from Primus only knew where, filling the room with a din of rhythm and beat, pounding patterns that just begged for bots to move to it.

In the epicentre of it all, the proud Sideswipe boasted grandly to all who would listen as he retold his heroic tale of scheming the entire party and the harrowing risks he took hiding his supplies in Wheeljack's lab. Though most of the adventures he spouted were not even half received by his audience, he was most congratulated for braving the dangers of the engineer's lab, and then praised for his sudden generosity when a cube of high-grade was thrust into their hands.

Little did they know, Sideswipe was only being generous in _sharing_ his high-grade, but that certainly didn't mean he was sharing it for _free_. The hidden costs were going to be saved for when everyone was too over-energized to realize that the red melee warrior was robbing them blind.

Sunstreaker sulked near by, glaring into his cube of half finished high-grade. The party may have been his half-bit suggestion in the first place, but he had never actually wanted for his brother to take him up on the idea. Now it was far too late to tell him otherwise. His only hope for some fun tonight was that some shorty minibot was going to get over-energized enough to want to start a fight. He was particularly hoping for a round with Brawn or Cliffjumper.

Bored optics drifted about the crowded room teeming with sad excuses of Autobots who couldn't hold their high-grade. Sunstreaker's gaze fell upon the nearby CMO who sat huddled with the grinning Wheeljack.

"I should be in the med bay," Ratchet groused, even as he downed another glowing cube set before him. "This was a ridiculous ruse you've played, Wheeljack! I can't believe I fell for it! As soon as I'm in my right processor, I'm going to tell you _exactly_ what I think about you and this horrendously sore attempt to get everyone to loosen up!" He drooped to the side so that his head leaned against the engineer's, with Tungsten wedged between them on his perch on Wheeljack's shoulder. "Until then, hand me another cube!"

With a laugh that lit up his fins, Wheeljack gladly reached for a cube and handed it to his friend. "Anythin' fer ya, Ratch'!" he replied. "Drink 'er up!"

"Fragging right I will!"

Sunstreaker sighed. The medic was definitely over-energized.

Drawing his gaze away from the sight, he was drawn to another couple, though the atmosphere around them certainly was not suited for any sort of party. Prowl was mainly silent and sober, staying in the presence of the party for merely the act of making sure nothing got too out of hand- he had long ago given up trying to disperse it. Jazz was sitting with him, un-naturally subdued for such an exuberant party. A small stack of cubes were laid out in front of him, stacked precariously on each other, each emptied of their contents. No where near his limit yet, the Special Ops commander continued to drink, but his mood appeared to only get darker as he worked his way through an atrocious amount of high-grade.

Just as Sunstreaker suspected, neither mech was speaking with the other, notwithstanding Jazz's few attempts at trying to start a conversation with the tactician. As much as he didn't care for anyone other himself and Sideswipe, he wished that those two would fragging suck it up and start talking with each other again so that everyone could get on with their lives and Prowl would stop bearing down on everyone's afts for even the smallest, most insignificant infractions.

Out from a nearby throng of revellers, Bluestreak broke away and wandered over to the small table that Prowl and Jazz were sulking at. He smiled clumsily and stuck out his hand to the silver mech, obviously requesting that Jazz come and join him and the others in their little circle of inebriated fun. With a quick glance back at the stoic Prowl, who showed no acknowledgement of Jazz, the silver mech grabbed the nearest full cube and took the sniper up on his offer.

Sunstreaker observed as Prowl's optics jumped from whatever he had been watching to track Jazz as he weaved into the crowd, instigating himself as the center of the party. There was hidden longing in those optics, but when they met Sunstreaker's even stare they turned steely and looked away.

Sideswipe suddenly appeared at his brother's side. "So, turned out great, didn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah, just great," Sunstreaker replied without honestly giving his twin a second thought.

"Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves," the red warrior said, leaning back against the same wall that Sunstreaker had been decorating since the beginning of the party.

"You mean everyone seems to be getting ridiculously over-energized," Sunstreaker said.

"Is there a difference?" Sideswipe laughed, happily finishing his own high-grade. "I say, let them drink themselves offline and then I'll just take what they owe me and then some… and maybe I'll paint a couple of them too. Stripes or something- maybe that pink colour of Arcee's armor in honour of her?"

"Do whatever you want, just so long as you don't get caught," sighed his twin. "I'm not saving you when you're about to get your aft handed to you by all the mechs you're going to frag off."

Sideswipe laughed again. "They'd have to catch me first," he said. "And they're never going to catch me." Something new amidst the masses of the party goers caught his optic and he grinned, clapping Sunstreaker on the shoulder and wandering away.

Again bored with whatever he was watching, the yellow melee warrior threw back his cube and downed it easily in a single go. Finished with it, he set it on a passing drone's tray and grabbed a fresh one, watching as the pre-programmed drone wandered off to the crowd of Aerialbots as Slingshot finally seemed to get the hint that the drone he was coming on to wasn't interested- turning his attentions instead to the table behind him.

Moonracer was easily more flustered by the mech's advances than the drone was, demonstrated clearly by her loud squeak as Slingshot began to croon in her audio receptors. Powerglide made a disgruntled noise and tried to discourage the attention, moving so that he took Moonracer's seat and the femme was out of reach. This did nothing to dispirit the happily oblivious Slingshot as he began to croon to Powerglide instead, his voice punctuated by various broken chirps and whistles. The Aerialbots were now in a state of absolute demented hilarity, hardly able to stay in their seats as they watched their fellow bot drape himself across the clearly horrified Powerglide.

A distinctly female voice carried over the uproarious laughter, shouting a few suggestions that further invigorated Slingshot to try is luck. Sunstreaker glanced up in the direction of the voice, spotting Chromia laughing in a far corner of Nebula One, surrounded by high-grade cubes and drinking steadily with her sparkmate. Ironhide was downing a large dose of what appeared to be a particularly strong cube of Sideswipe's high-grade- strong in both potency and taste. The weapons specialist grimaced, offering the last few mouthfuls to his bonded, who took it like a mech. They both appeared in better spirits than anyone one in Iacon had seen them in for the past few orns.

Loath to process anything that had to do with old bots getting any, Sunstreaker had to admit grudgingly that if they carried on in the randy manner that they were, Nebula One was about to be in for quite a public show.

Firestar waltzed by, tugging both Inferno and Red Alert behind her. The mechs appeared dazed and over-energized, though the femme guiding them looked sober and devious, clearly planning something for their night. She winked to Sunstreaker as she passed.

"Looking for some fun?" she asked.

"Not that kind," Sunstreaker replied, lifting his high-grade to her as she effectively dragged the pair of mechs away to the depths of Iacon.

As drunken toasts began to ring out across the scene honouring Arcee's antivirus, Sideswipe's genius scheming, and praising Wheeljack's new record for not blowing up his lab in so many orns, Sunstreaker finally realized who was missing. Two bots were absent, actually. Two of the most important bots.

Reaching out to the passing Ultra Magnus, who was closely tailed by the grooving Blaster and a flock of femmes interested in company for the night, Sunstreaker narrowed his gaze on him. "Where's Optimus?" he asked. "He and Elita aren't here."

Ultra Magnus glanced around the expanse of the room, shrugging. "If they are not here, then I suppose they are with Bumblebee and Arcee. Optimus has not had any time lately to see them privately; I believe he is using this as his chance."

The melee warrior nodded, watching as the Base Commander made his way through the crowds, trying in vain to escape his followers and admirers.

It didn't matter much to the melee warrior whether or not Optimus or Elita decided to skip out on the festivities, but he could quite help a brief begrudging thought that passed through his processor; they certainly were missing out on one pit of a party.

* * *

The _Alaksmi _groaned tiredly as landing thrusters were engaged and the ship was manoeuvred to hover briefly above the detritus strewn ground before setting down with a jolt.

Flamewar shot a glare at the pilot sitting next to her, and Counterpunch in return quailed under her stare, spouting a hasty string of "sorry's".

"Just mute it, alright? I've heard it all before," the femme replied, easing up from her seat. She took a good hard look out the view screen at the rendezvous point they had set down in, which was essentially a rusted wasteland. She expected no less of any place that was of Virus's choosing- the beast seemed to have a love for the vile things in life.

Said beast could be discerned amongst the slag and wreckage as a pacing shadowing of massive proportions, glaring red eyes piercing the settling darkness with frightening clarity. She seemed to be staring right through the ship and directly into Flamewar's spark, infecting it as if she had already stabbed her with her damned viral injectors. Despite the fact that Virus was once her subordinate, there was no helping the uncontrolled feeling of anxiety that flitted through the femme in the face of such an unpredictable creature; very rarely did the creature even regard Flamewar as an authority. Megatron was the only one she saw.

The comms buzzed to life, announcing that the mercenary was hailing them. Counterpunch fiddled with the controls, opening the frequency.

"This- this is the Decepticon ship _Alaksmi," _he announced. "We are here to deliver your payment for services rendered."

A feral growl rumbled through the cockpit. "Then get the frag out of the ship and give it to me already, you little piece of slag," Virus replied. "I've been waiting long enough, I'm damn sure not waiting any longer!"

With pleading optics, Counterpunch turned to Flamewar, silently begging her to go first. Snorting in disgust from the mech's utter lack of anything resembling courage, the femme took up the two precious cubes of Centaurie Tetrax refined high-grade and made for the hatch.

"You're unloading the rest of it," she ordered, disappearing out into the shadowed wasteland beyond. She made her way along the uneven ground with her cargo balanced carefully in her arms, optics fixed ahead on the looming shadow of Virus as she made her way towards Flamewar.

"It's been a while," the Femme Commander greeted, holding out her offering with a blank faceplate.

"Yes, it has." Virus was equally as blank as she bowed her head and took the cubes into her gaping maw. A few odd twists of her head and the cubes were moved from her mouth into holding compartments within her. Flamewar regarded the process with thinly veiled distain, thinking it too relative of an organic function.

"Counterpunch will be unloading the rest of your payment for you. Do you have means to transport it?" the femme inquired, wary of letting her guard down.

The quadruped shrugged as best she could with her bulky, four legged frame. "I have the means," she replied. "I simply want what I rightly deserve; Worm and Trojan are in need of the energon."

Flamewar nodded, flicking an annoyed glance back at the _Alaksmi. _What was taking the mech so long? She attempted to open a comms to the ship to demand that he hurry up, but found that the signal was strangely blocked.

"What the frag-?" she hissed, drawing her weapon.

Virus caught the movement and snarled. "What is happening, Flamewar?"

"I don't know," hissed the femme. "But I'm going to find out."

Punch watched them from the view screen carefully, his fingers now working wildly to fire the ship's engines back up. They were far enough away that if he managed to get the ship to start now, they'd never catch him. If he didn't get the ship in the air now, he'd end up as less then a pile of smoking slag; he'd end up as the slag between Virus's fangs.

Striking in the last ignition sequence, the intoxicating hum of the engines revving to life vibrated through the ship.

"_Yes! Yes! Yes!"_ the mech crowed as the _Alaksmi_ began to rise shakily.

"You half-bit glitch, what the pit do you think you're doing?!" Flamewar shrieked as she watched her only means of transport begin to take off. "Get the frag back here!" She tried hailing the ship once more, but the comms were still blocked. Seeing no other way, she took aim and fired off a volley of pulse blasts at the hull, rocking the _Alaksmi _dangerously in the air.

Virus let loose a feral snarl, her frame seeming to swell in the shadows as furious rage overtook her. "Is this your idea of some sort of foul joke?!" she roared to her ex-commander. "If it is, I find no fragging humour in it!"

"This is hardly anyone's idea of a joke!" Flamewar hissed, taking aim again and firing off another rapid score of pulse blasts. This time she managed to blast away a bit of the ventral plating. "This must be Starscream's doing!"

Virus's optics flashed, her faceplate twisting ferociously into a mask of rage and hate. "That lying, double-crossing pit-spawn! Damn him to the pit!" she screeched. "I'll kill him!" Her shoulder mounted missiles arranged themselves and took aim, firing upon the thrusters of the Alaksmi. One struck, shredding the aft end of the ship.

"Slag her!" Punch howled, rapidly trying to compensate. The ship wasn't rising fast enough- he was too out in the open! At this rate, they were going to tear the ship apart before he was even able to engage the thrusters! "Come on! Come on you piece of slag! I need thrusters! Thrusters!"

The ship was hit hard with another attack, pitching it into a severe nosedive. The exposed underside was pummelled with the combined fury of missiles and pulse blasts, shooting a hole straight through the plating. A shriek of warning alarms filled the cockpit, uselessly warning him that the hull had bee penetrated when he was already staring out the hole and down the barrel of Flamewar's gun. A single blast from her found its way inside, searing across the side of Punch's faceplate and striking the controls.

"Frag it! I'm not going down like this! Not now!" He grasped the flight controls and hauled them back, cursing as the engines first sputtered, and then howling in victory as they roared back to life, swooping the entire ship upwards in a great curve that grazed the rusted ground below. With one hand still pulling back the controls, forcing the _Alaksmi _to climb at a near-vertical rate, Punch initiated the main thruster controls. There was a brief whine as they powered up, and then the ship was rocketing away.

The air of the night was rent in two as Virus fixed a pit-fire glare in the retreating ship, rearing to her full monstrous height and roaring her fury.

"**I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS, STARSCREAM**! **I'LL KILL YOU**!"

Beyond the range of their weapons, Punch felt relief flood him. The ship looked like slag, his sensors were gone, and, thanks to the gaping hole now situated behind him in the floor, the structural integrity of the ship was practically zero, but he was alive, at least. Carefully, the Autobot settled himself in the pilot's seat, one hand absently moving to the protected compartment in his armor which house the vital chip containing Arcee's antivirus.

Keeping his heading straight and true for Iacon, he could only hope he wasn't too late.


	16. Of Autobots and Decepticons III

Well, this was actually intended as the last chapter, but then it stretched on and on, so this is now the second to last chapter. The NEXT chapter is the last chapter, though, I swear. This is more like the chapter that sets up all the awesome action that is to come in the next chapter! And, believe me, there will be ACTION!

_Goldbug- _Yes, I realize that in G1 he and Bumblebee were one and the same, but for the sake of my need of another mech on Delta-3, I used him. They are two completely different mechs in this fic. Sorry for any confusion.

A super, awesome, Godzilla-sized thank you goes to **Violet Light**, who was kind enough to beta me. You are truly the best, **Violet**! I am in your debt until the Unmaker comes to consume this universe! As well, major thanks to **Tecuma** for taking a peek at the chapter! Two sets of eyes are always better than one!

A major, huge, world-shattering thank you goes out to all the reviewers of the last chapter! You have been the inspiring force behind my continued writing! I wish to sincerely thank the kindness of **JenniferJ, a.mild.groove, theshadowcat, Dragowolf, Bunnylass, Lady Tecuma**, and **Litahatchee.** You are too wonderful for words! Now that we're getting down to the end, your reviews mean more to me than ever! The sequel all depends on how you, my precious readers, like these last chapters! So please, do review!

As always, **Litahatchee**, for your two blow-me-away reviews for the _same_ chapter, this chapter is for you!

* * *

"Have we cleared the atmosphere?"

Barricade's claws ran across the consol, checking sensors. "Yes."

"Then set a course for the Allspark's last known trajectory and engage the interstellar warp drive." The sneer in Starscream's voice was palpable throughout the bridge. Let his Decepticons chase sensor-ghosts, it mattered little to him. Sooner or later they would bend to his authority.

Blackout glared from the helm, bitterly following his orders of inputting the heading and engaging the engines. Whether Starscream liked it or not, the _Nemesis_ was going to find the Allspark _and_ Megatron. "…And you'll never see it coming."

"What was that, Blackout?" Starscream hissed.

Blackout tensed. "_Nothing,_" he hissed. "Just saying how Iacon will never see the attack coming."

A laugh like claws shrieking against metal filled the ship's bridge. "They're probably not even aware that oblivion is coming for them even as we speak."

* * *

"_Punch to Autobot Base Iacon, come in! Punch to Autobot Base Iacon, come in! Slag it all to the pits! Answer Me Dammit!!"_

Iacon was slowly coming into view, a fortified shadow of power hidden in the darkness of the night. Pinpricks of light cast by the sentry posts and numerous sensor arrays enclosed the massive structure, encircling it like a ring of tiny stars dotting the torn Cybertronian landscape. The _Alaksmi_, on her last legs of life, was giving it all she had to get to the base, her pilot working furiously with his communication controls in order to raise some sort of response from the ominously silent base. All he was getting in response was a series of disjointed musical sound bytes.

Frustration overtaking him, Punch snarled at the consol and slammed his fists into it. "Dammit, Blaster! What the frag are you doing?! This is no time to be jamming the communications with your slagging garbage!"

He rapidly punched in the sequence for his commander' private channels, only to receive the same infernal racket he'd picked up from the main comm. channels. He revved furiously, internal heat skyrocketing as a panicked frenzy began to overtake him; Jazz may have been known for a loose tendency amongst his peers, but hardly was he ever negligible to his duties as commander of Special Ops. For him not to answer Punch's hails was reason enough to panic.

"_What in the pit is going on that everyone in that slagging base has to frag off on their own duties?!"_ he roared.

A warning scrawled across a nearby monitor, letting the Autobot double-agent know exactly how dead his ship was about to be in a few breems. He'd be lucky to keep the ship in the air for the last stretch to Iacon without crashing horribly to the ground. As if to test his ever-waning patience, the ship in question rattled ominously, the scorched hole that gaped in the bottom groaning painfully, sagging outward.

"Come on, you fragging piece of slag, don't give out on me! We're this close to getting the antivirus there!" Punch hissed, fingers flying over the controls in vain attempts to reinforce the structural integrity. In reply to his cursing demands, the _Alaksmi_ dropped heavily from the air, though remaining just high enough not to crash.

A bitter laugh ripped from Punch's vocal processor. "I should have figured you'd be this helpful," he sneered, even as altitude continued to waver dangerously. "You're a Decepticon ship, after all."

Deciding that trying to connect directly to Iacon was a lost cause thanks to whatever the pit Blaster was doing, Punch then focused his attentions on the sentry posts he was coming up on. He could already see that their weapons were out and aimed to fire on him; after all, all they saw was a Decepticon ship flying in and they had no orders not to fire since Punch couldn't get a fragging hold of Blaster to tell them to stand down.

He worked rapidly, hailing them in every frequency created in the known universe. _Please, Primus, let them answer! _

And, by some divine working of the universe, the comms channel crackled to life.

"_This is Autobot Sentry Post Delta-4; what the frag do you want, Decepticon?" _

Punch nearly passed out in relief as the response came through; never, ever had Huffer's ornery voice ever sounded so good.

"_Autobot Sentry Post Delta-4, this is Special Operations operative Punch requesting entry into Iacon- I am coming in with the antivirus and urgent information that I must pass along to Prime as soon as possible!" _

"_Nice try, Decepti-scum, but all my sensors show is a fragging 'Con ship being flown in by a fragging 'Con- there ain't no Autobots on board. Better luck next time." _

Punch hissed furiously, having completely forgotten that his Decepticon signature resonator was still engaged. In a single, baleful movement, his chest plating flung open and he ripped out the resonator, flinging it out the hole. He engaged his camouflage-subroutines, reversing his Counterpunch guise so that he was once again himself.

"_There, look at your sensors now, you half-bit dolt! They'll tell you that I just flung a "Decepticon" overboard and now there's an Autobot piloting the ship! I'll send you my own identification codes for confirmation of my identity-," _and he did so quickly, seeing as Sentry Posts Delta 1 through 3 were preparing to fire as he squawked with Delta-4.

Huffer examined his sensors as well as the sent codes, scrutinizing them carefully. _"Well, it looks like you're really Punch. Took you long enough to get here," _he admitted gruffly, as if disappointed that he didn't get to shoot anyone out of the sky. _"Why didn't you just contact Iacon directly instead of connecting with the Sentry Posts? It would have saved you and me a lot of fragging trouble." _

Punch twitched, every subroutine in his processor dedicated to patience now officially blown. _"JUST STAND DOWN AND LET ME IN!!" _he roared.

* * *

"Controlled chaos" was the only way to describe the swarm that Motormaster found himself at the epicentre of; literally hundreds upon hundreds of Decepticons at his command. It was a rampant sea of destruction laid out before him, mechs of all sizes and capabilities swelling the ranks until they stretched out beyond what his optics could compute. It was not only the furious power of Kaon that churned around the massive gestalt leader, but also the strength of Decepticons drawn to the thought of battle. Lurking mechs within dead, smouldering battlefields and berserkers left to roam mindlessly in their pursuit of death; the massive signature of the mobile army drew them like a beacon. They wanted a piece of the action.

Motormaster opened his communication channels to his fellow Stunticons to check on the progress of their divisions along the frontlines. _"Dead End, Drag Strip, Breakdown, report." _

"_Everything looks clear here," _Drag Strip answered first. _"Everything that gets in our way is pretty much mowed over. We're leaving nothing standing." _

"_Same here," _Dead End intoned listlessly. _"Nothing more exciting to report other than I got some crazy-aft mechs with a taste for sparks fresh from the chamber." _

"_That's disgusting," _Drag Strip hissed.

Dead End sighed morosely. _"Yeah, but does it matter? When the Unmaker comes for us all, won't all our sparks be eaten and burn for eternity in the pit anyways? Why shy away from our imminent deaths?" _

"…_Dead End?" _

"_Yeah?" _

"_Seek. Help. Now." _

Breakdown's channel was ominously silent for a long while. It was only after Motormaster prompted him several times with increasingly deadly threats did he finally speak. _"You're a glitch," _he seethed. _"A fragging, good-for-nothing glitch. You stuck me with the Seekers." _

Drag Strip's laughter was high and cruel over the comms. _"Still sore about that, Brakes?" _

"_Mute it or I'll rip out your vocals!" _

"_Are you still having problems with them?" _Motormaster growled, hardly in the mood for his team mates' bickering._ "Are they not sticking to formation?" _

"_Of course they're not!" _Breakdown barked. _"Even if there was the remotest chance that they would stick to any formation, do you think it would be for me? Frag no! All I'm doing here is staring at their thrusters while they go looping around in the air bitching on about our vainglorious leader leaving." _

"_Just tune them out and try and keep the rest of your division in line. I don't care how you do it, just see that you have some semblance of control. The attack on Iacon has to go off without a hitch." _

"_Yeah, I'll get right on that, Motormaster," _the irritated Stunticon hissed. _"Just as soon as you bend over and let one of these damn Seekers fly up your-!" _

Motormaster cut his comms with a seething hiss. Damn his team and their ridiculous histrionics! Was it too much to ask for to be part of a team of mechs he could stand?

From out of the dark sea of metal and murderous intent, Wildrider's sharp, angular alt mode came flying out with a vengeance. He spun several spastic circles around his leader before matching pace with him.

"The natives are getting restless," he informed with a wicked cackle. "They're out for energon, you know; they want to run rivers of it."

"Just so long as they don't kill each other."

"I'm not making any promises," Wildrider replied, daring to taunt his own leader. "I'm right up there with them; with Iacon so close, who's to say that someone won't want to start a fight early to get warmed up?"

Motormaster revved darkly, the ground around him vibrating. "Try to keep your parts in place, you slag heap; Iacon will have enough Autobots in it to spill oceans full of energon. That should be enough to satisfy all of you."

Mad laughter erupted from his fellow Stunticon, racing circles around his leader in all his crazed excitement. "I'll rip their lines out and wear their energon like paint!"

"You do that," Motormaster sneered, willing his team mate to go away. He could only stand them for so long, a few astroseconds at most. If there was no need for Menasor at the moment, then there was no point in keeping Wildrider's company either.

Thankfully, a distraction was provided for the carnage-loving mech in the form of snapping tensions between the Predacons and the Terrorcons, both suddenly rearing back and attacking. Within astroseconds, Wildrider was in the thick of it, howling with feral glory as he ripped into a random Decepticon. The infection of the fight spread quickly, mechs soon descending into a frenzy of flying fists and discharging weapons as the thrill of battle seized their sparks.

Motormaster growled menacingly, watching the riot with mulish loathing. Might as well let them scrap it out; there was no way he was going to get any mech to walk away from the fight. If, by some grace of Primus, he somehow managed to channel their murderous energies before they all killed each other, Iacon wasn't going to stand a chance.

* * *

Unaware of the encroaching danger beyond the walls of Iacon, Optimus hid away within the confines of the ICU, far from the revelries of the celebratory party going full swing in Nebula One. He was blessedly alone in the dimmed room, Elita waiting patiently in the med bay for him, watching through the crystalline windows. She was silently reaching out to him, offering him a small gift of strength and reassurance as he faced the two fallen warriors he had yet to fully face.

'_It's all right, Optimus. They're going to be okay…" _he could feel her whispering through their sparkbond in words that were no more than the imaginary brush of a sensor ghost. Unfathomable blue optics glanced back, locking with the wise, caring gaze of their other half, their mate, and a gentle smile graced his tired faceplate. He offered a subtle wave, assuring her that he was okay. She waved back and nodded, understanding, moving to make herself comfortable on an empty berth in the med bay while she waited.

Optimus turned back to his task at hand, the short trek to the berthside of the little yellow-armored scout.

"_Bumblebee…"_ He reached out a large hand and ran it along the patched armor that now covered the scout's head, places where irreparable plating had been hacked away and replaced with temp plating, grey and ugly against the bright glory of Bumblebee's true colours. Under his hands, the minibot felt far too small, fragile, too much like the first time he had seen the little sparkling so long ago; a tiny, tiny little creature, so small as to fit in the palm of his hand, unimaginably breakable, and yet looking up at him with the greatest trust alive in his large, wide optics.

"I am sorry this has happened to you," Optimus murmured, caressing the healing armor on the minibot's arms. His gaze strayed from Bumblebee for a moment to glance to the silent, floating form of Arcee; her right arm had been reconstructed and attached an orn ago, but other than that there was little change in her condition. Her life was still holding on only by a thread. Optimus refocused his gaze on Bumblebee once more. "_Neither_ of you deserved this…"

A tiny chirrup chimed from Bumblebee, his frame shivering ever so lightly. He wasn't online yet, but he was close- so close that he could almost make out the words being said. His processors were still a haze of undulating sensor-ghosts and thrown-off harmonics but he knew… he knew in his spark that someone important was nearby. A spark-wrenching smile crossed Optimus's faceplate as he processed the tiny, drowsy chirrup. His hand moved back to the scout's head, stroking it lightly.

"This might be the last time that we see each other in a very long time," Prime sighed. "The _Ark_ is almost fully prepared for launch, thanks to Arcee's, Ultra Magnus's and your efforts in getting it here. As your condition stands, I will most likely be gone by the time you come back online…" He took a deep drag of air through his intakes, and then let it all billow out his vents in a long, drawn out sigh, steeling himself. "There are a few things that I feel you should know before I leave, though-."

He knew it was cowardly to be admitting anything to an unconscious Bumblebee, but it was better than nothing; it would serve to ease the burden of guilt that had settled so painfully on his spark.

"First of all, had you and Arcee not been forced into the conditions you are in, you would have been placed on the Allspark search mission in Mirage's place. I know that might come as a surprise to you, but I assure you, you deserved the position. I have watched you for a very long time, little one, and I know that your desire to prove yourself goes far beyond anything us other mechs can imagine; I knew that if I were to place you on the search for the Allspark you would finally be able to reach that goal of proving your worth, of showing not only yourself, but everyone else, that you are as tough a warrior as anyone. It seems that you will have to find another opportunity to do so now."

His internal chronometer let him know that the evanescent hours of dawn were quickly approaching.

"I do not know if you're aware of this, Bumblebee, but there are many things in my life that I regret…" Optimus confessed. "There are very few I have ever admitted this to, though, it seems… _appropriate_ that you be one of the chosen few."

Light cast by the active CR chamber behind him played odd dances of light and shadow across the planes of Bumblebee's small frame, reflecting here, casting dull shadow there. The little scout looked almost immaterial, like a flickering image about to disappear. In attempts to steady reality, Prime kept his hands on the scout's yellow armor, anchoring the image.

"In truth, I regret the many terrible mistakes I've made as Prime. I failed to see the true nature of _my own brother_." Even as he spoke the words, they left a bitter stinging somewhere deep within him, like admitting a horrible secret after too much time has passed. "Look what that mistake has cost me; everything that I have ever held dear is either long gone or slowly slipping through my fingers. How often have I wondered if the reason I was so blind to Megatron's true nature was because he was my brother, or if I simply did not want to believe that something so terrible as a planet-consuming war could ever happen in my reign as Prime? I spend every night regretting the suffering that I have put my people through because of my stupidity. I _failed_ them, Bumblebee. If I had been a better Prime, a better ruler, or even a better _brother_, maybe I could have prevented all of this from happening!"

His hands fisted, resting on the edge of the berth, clenched, shaking slightly; his vocal processor could not seem to modulate a steady voice at all, it was too thick with self-loathing.

"Even the smaller tasks in life I failed miserably at. When you came along, you were a Primus sent miracle. One look at you though, at your beautiful, innocent optics, your tiny, fragile frame, and I knew that I was unworthy of such a loving being. I had Ironhide take guardianship of you; he's always been a gruff mech, but I knew he had the spark hidden inside him for the task. Every mech in Iacon had a hand in raising you… except for _me_. I wish, no, I _should_ have done more for you, little one, played a greater role in your life, not just hide on the sidelines while watching you come of age so spectacularly.

"There were so many times I should have given you more advice when you sought it, or comfort when you needed it, or closure when you searched for it. I could never find the strength to face you, though. Even now, it hurts. Knowing that you were once an innocent sparkling, and how you were ruthlessly thrust into the heart of war without choice, without the freedom to say no, only to become a warrior, a killer. By that alone, I failed you most of all. _I'm sorry_."

He was so close to Bumblebee that he could _just _make out the gentle whirring of the scout's systems, the whisper of the minibot slowly getting better.

"You- you may or may not understand what I am saying to you right now, and even if you do, you may not remember it when you come back online. That's okay, though. I understand. There is only one more thing I must say to you before I leave; one last regret that I must unburden myself of, being that of a secret I have held so close to my spark that not even Elita One knows of it. It is the secret of _who _you are, Bumblebee, where you came, and what you stand for. It is high time that I told you." He glanced back at his sparkmate, caressing her with an ethereal touch. She understood his plea; he needed her, and she would not deny him her presence.

"I believe it is high time I told the both of you…"

* * *

Punch crash landed the _Alaksmi_ with less grace than a Seeker crashing to the ground after being shot through the thrusters. Engaging whatever remaining power cells he had left in the damned piece-of-slag ship, he attempted to manoeuvre the skidding pile of scrap to a safe halt. Instead, he ended up parallel drifting through the entire length of the hangar before coming to a slow, dragging halt only a breath away from Mirage's faceplate.

The Master Spy glared hard at the pointed nose of the banged-up Decepticon ship. Its aft end wavered dangerously before the thrusters simply fell off all together into a heap of useless, blasted metal. Catching Hound and Smokescreen's optics, the Intelligence Commander motioned for them to double around to the hatch while he addressed the ship itself.

"Whoever you are, come out now or we will fire!" he commanded, drawing his weapon.

The hatch that led into the ship did not so much as open as it more like _fell off_. And what came out of the ship certainly was not a Decepticon. He was painted an unusual shade of sensor-blinding orange-yellow, looking a little worse for wear, though nowhere near as bad as his ship. Mirage identified him immediately as an agent who was once a part of his own ranks before being transferred to Special Ops. Just to be sure of his identity, Mirage issued an identification scan, matching the mech's spark resonance to the Autobot spy designated Punch.

The double-agent raised his hands in response to the charged weapons trained on him, looking rumpled and aggravated. "Designation: Punch, of the Autobot Special Operations Division," he growled, more than a little fragged off. "And before you shoot, I have the antivirus

There was a brief pause, and the Mirage carefully subspaced his weapon, Hound and Smokescreen following suit shortly after. "It's been awhile, Punch," the Master Spy said.

The blinding orange-yellow mech shrugged. "I've been away," he replied. "Sorry for the radio silence, but Kaon isn't exactly a place where I could chat merrily with my Autobot brethren."

"Kaon, you say? I had wondered where you'd been assigned to."

Punch huffed, stepping out of the _Alaksmi_ once he was sure he wasn't going to be shot. "Believe me, Kaon isn't an assignment, it's a punishment," he replied drily.

Hound perked up happily, catching on from Mirage that there was no need to be wary of this mech. "So, _you're_ the mech that's supposed to be bringing the antivirus, huh?" Punch nodded. "Well, don't that beat all!" He clapped the agent jovially on the back several times, pitching him forward. "You're just in time to catch the tail end of the party!"

"P-party? " Punch sputtered.

"Yeah, there's a raging one going on down in Nebula One," Hound replied cheerfully.

It suddenly made terrible sense to Punch as to why he couldn't open a damned channel to Iacon. "You have _got_ to be kidding me!"

Smokescreen shrugged. "Sideswipe's doing."

"Have you any idea the trouble I went through trying to patch a channel through to this base?" Punch demanded. "I was damn near shot down by the sentries! And I find out it was all because of a stupid _party_?"

"A stupid party meant for Arcee," Smokescreen pointed out.

"A party nonetheless where every frequency to this base is blasting with nothing but noise!"

"Take it up with Blaster; we have nothing to do with communications," Mirage said.

"Oh, I'll take _something_ up with him- like a pulse cannon. I'm not in the mood to be dealing with this kind of slag." the double-agent groused. He fixed the three mechs surrounding him with a strange stare. "If there's a party going on, what are you three doing skulking around down here?"

"Smokescreen and I are about to set off on a tracking mission. No time to party," Hound answered. "We're hunting down Virus and her crew. Mirage here is just seeing us off."

"Virus, huh? _Go figure_," Punch offered flatly. "Download my ship's logs. Hopefully that glitch is still seething where I left her; the coordinates should still be in the navigational. Be careful, though- she'll be unbelievably fragged off when you find her."

"I sense a story," Smokescreen mused, quirking an optic ridge. "Care to share?"

"Maybe another time. Right now, I need to get this antivirus to Arcee as soon as possible, and then I need to get to Prime. He needs to know of the circumstances that have arisen ASAP."

"What kind of _circumstances_?" Mirage asked, his optics narrowed in immediate suspicion.

"An attack on Iacon set for possibly tomorrow." The reaction was instantaneous among his fellow bots, their gasps sharp in his audio receptors, frames rigid, swept speechless. The double-agent regarded them with a grim sense of satisfaction. "Yeah, that's what I said," he laughed darkly. He slipped between his ex-commander and Hound, quickly making his way towards the door. "We don't have a lot of time left, so if you'll excuse me, I have some deliveries to make."

As an after thought before he left, he offered a quick, "Good luck with your mission, Hound, Smokescreen. And for Primus' sake, if you catch her, don't mention Starscream."

* * *

Huffer sat in an omnipresent cloud of what his fellow sentry, Warpath, had termed "pissed mist". This interminable cloud of forever-fragged-offness hung like a palpable entity in the air around him, swelling and abating like the waves of some "pissed mist" filled ocean. From the moment his shift began right up until the very astrosecond of this segment in time, he had been stewing in a fouler mood than Prowl after an escapade orchestrated by the twins.

The reason for his foul mood; _sentry duty_.

And not _just_ sentry duty; it was sentry duty in _Delta-4,_ the least accommodating of all the posts (in Huffer's opinion), partnered with _Warpath_, the most annoying mech to be trapped with on sentry duty (as per the general opinion). There was a party going on down in Nebula One and he couldn't go because he was crammed into a too-small outpost with a too-loud mech who insisted on making his own slagging sound effects whenever it got to quiet.

Even if parties of any sort were not the moody minibot's idea of fun, he'd rather be schmoozing at Nebula One, getting dementedly over-energized, than sticking around in his post wasting neural receptors watching Iacon's perimeters.

"WAHOO! Well ain't that just something?!" Warpath crowed, spinning his seat around several times. "We got the antivirus now, eh? We got one over on those damn 'Cons, eh?! This is great! Oh pit, I gotta tell the other posts!"

Huffer banged his forehead against the consol, wishing Primus would simply deactivate him instead of torturing him with Warpath- that was just cruel and unusual.

Three screens lit up nearby, each featuring the faceplates of the other sentries on duty; Beachcomber and Cosmos in Delta-1, Seaspray and Outback in Delta-2, and Goldbug and Dogfight in Delta-3.

Goldbug was the first to dive in. "What did you think you were doing letting a Deception ship in here, Warpath?! Are you on the fritz?!" he shouted. "That was an act of high treason! Red Alert will shoot all of us if he finds out! Prowl will _kill_ us!""

Warpath laughed, waving away the golden mech's concerns. "Nah, it ain't like that, Buggy," he said. "That was the mech coming in with the antivirus! It's all right- he's completely Autobot. We confirmed it."

Beachcomber and Cosmos crowded closer to their view screen.

"Are you serious, Warpath? We have the cure now? Arcee's going to be alright?" Cosmos asked excitedly.

"Well, yeah, that's what having the antivirus means, now don't it?"

Seaspray glanced over at the grumbling Huffer, who continued to lay faceplate down on his consol. "You don't look too happy about it, Huffer," he pointed out.

"Oh, I'm all happy for Arcee and her cure, don't get me wrong," the chronically-pessimistic mech replied. "It's just when every mech around decides to gossip about it like a bunch of younglings that I start to have a problem."

Warpath shook his duty partner jovially. "Ah, cheer up old mech! Everything's going to be okay now!"

"'_Okay_' my aft," Huffer groused. "This is war; nothing is ever _okay_."

As if to prove him right, a series of quick, intermitted blips chirped from Delta-3, heard by all via the open comm. link. Dogfight spun around to take a look the disturbance, his gasp audible over the comms.

"_Frag it,"_ he hissed. "This has got to be some sort of systems malfunction!"

Goldbug spun to see the problem, stumbling back as soon as he laid optics on the long range scans. "That- that can't be possible!"

Getting antsy, Outback demanded, "What is it? Something's come up, hasn't it? Send it to us so we can see!"

"Oh slag, pit, _frag_, this ain't good! You're not going to like this _at all_," Dogfight growled, routing his long range sensor readouts to the other Delta posts so that his fellow sentries could see exactly what was so bad. A sickening silence fell between the eight bots as they processed what they were seeing

"There- there's so many of them…" Cosmos whispered.

"They're all heading for Iacon," Beachcomber sighed disbelievingly.

An armada of Decepticons were closing in fast, hundreds of them swarming onto sensors like a storm summoned from the pit. Huffer grumbled resentfully as he glared at the monitor; his foul mood just got a whole lot worse.

* * *

Elita was cautious as she approached her mate. She was being cautious in a way that she never had to be before around Optimus, and that scared her somewhat. Never had she felt these particular feelings from him; there was the all-too-familiar weight of his mantle as Prime, of course, and the scars of his own regrets that she knew he carried a little too deeply, but there was now a new feeling… no, not _new_ per say.

It was _old._ Old feelings that were new to her. Something that had been hidden for a very long time now laid out revealed. _Old pain_. A very old secret.

Her optics first swept Bumblebee's prone form, then to Arcee's, drifting back to Bumblebee's once more before finally settling on Optimus's regal self. He was anything but regal now, bent low over the scout, frame worn from battle, sagging from whatever agony he was silently suffering through. She reached out a trembling hand, brushing it along the warmed metal of his arm, startled aback when he jumped at her touch.

"Optimus?" she inquired quietly, her gaze searching his.

He released a broken sigh, straightening up only to encompass her in his arms and lift her so that she was perched next to Bumblebee. "I… don't deserve you," he said after a fashion.

"Of course you deserve me," she chastised, shaking her head. Small hands took hold of the edges of his thick armor, fixing him to the spot. "What's gotten into you? What's wrong?"

Optimus couldn't quite meet her optics. "I should have told you from the start what I had planed all those vorns ago…"

Cold, dreadful, morbid curiosity stirred within her. "Optimus…?"

"The reason I never said anything was because I- I couldn't stand the thought of your disappointment if I _failed_." He dropped his gaze to the inert Bumblebee. "Elita, I've done something…"

A thrill went through her, shocking every neural relay in her frame. Instantly, her own optics dropped to Bumblebee and an impossible theory took root in her processor, the reason for the unexplainable bond that stretched between her own sparkmate and the little scout. Unconsciously, her hand came up to grasp the front of her own chassis, willing the pulse of her spark to calm.

"Tell me now, if you can," she urged, whispering.

"When this war took a turn for the worst and access to the Allspark was restricted, do you remember the panic that ensued?"

She nodded numbly. Bumblebee's optics lightened only briefly, catching words, phrases, listening in his own way.

"Everyone believed that in locking the Allspark away from the rest of Cybertron, we would doom ourselves to extinction just as much as we would be damming ourselves would the Cube fell into Decepticon hands."

"_Damned if we did, damned if we didn't,"_ Elita sighed.

"Without the ability to bring new life online, there was a panic that our race would soon massacre ourselves into oblivion, right?"

"Yes…"

"I should have told you this a long, _long_ time ago, Elita…" Optimus whispered. He could feel her spark pulsing with the acute thrill of fear, anxiety. Deep down, she already knew what he was going to say. "There was a theory developed by Jetfire, he'd been working on it for a while. He hypothesized about residual Allspark-like energies lying dormant within a spark-."

Elita shook her head quickly. "That's not a new theory," she said quickly. "Scientists have always speculated that we carry within our sparks some form of residual energy from our origin."

"But what of the _activation_ of those energies?" he asked.

"Activation?" she repeated slowly.

"He hypothesized that the Allspark energy that lies dormant within our sparks could be activated in the same fashion that the Allspark was in order to form a new spark. He believed the Creation Matrix could do it." And as he spoke, Optimus was drowning in the depths of his own guilt, dragging Elita down through their bond as he reached out to her in hopes to be held above the waves. "It was yet another ridiculous notion that I indulged upon. I thought that if it worked, I could bring new hope to the Autobots, show them that all was not lost yet…"

"_Primus, Optimus_, _what did you do_?"

The great commander bowed his entire mighty frame, seeking refuge in the embrace of his sparkmate. "I should have told you, I should have let you be a part of it," he murmured. "The mission was faked; only a select few were chosen… none from Iacon; we filed the assignment as a simple survey mission to check out possible locations for a new base. It took longer than any of us originally believed it would. I was weak for a long time after the procedure, my spark nearly extinguished on some occasions…"

Elita searched through her memory banks, trying to bring up that mission, trying to remember it. Most vividly, she remembered the shocking pain that had seized her spark in the middle of the night and the hysteria that had gripped her for long orns afterward when no one could contact the away team.

"You were gone for so long," she whispered. "But when you came back…" Her optics got wide with dawning comprehension.

Their gazes locked. So painfully slowly did Prime's optics move, dragging his sparkmate's gaze to follow. They were entranced by the most beautiful shade of bright yellow that met their gaze; like the sun; like the personification of cheerfulness; bright; hopeful. The minibot stirred fretfully, existing just below the surface of consciousness.

"_Bumblebee?" _

A great weight felt as if it had been lifted from him as he nodded. _Finally_, she knew.

* * *

Chromia had a good hold of Ironhide's armor as she began to drag him out of Nebula One. They were miraculously stable on their feet as they shoved their way to door. Social decorum was all but forgotten as they tussled with each other through the swaying crowds of Autobots. A touch here, a caress there, and Chromia was all but purring her pleasure as Ironhide rumbled with his own desire in reply.

"Our quarters?" Ironhide growled, hands coming around to dig into the open ridges in his sparkmate's armor, playing with the wiring beneath.

"Too far," she hissed. Her gait became a little more hurried. "You still owe me for the firing range."

"You want to take this to the range?"

"We won't even make it that far," she replied, a sensual laugh playing on Ironhide's audios.

He revved deeply, causing his whole frame to vibrate. "Then why suggest it?"

"I didn't suggest it," the femme purred. "I meant you owe me one good, long overload for leaving me hanging last time!" There was an advantage that small frames like femme models had over larger mech models, and that was the gift of tiny, dextrous fingers, to which Chromia used to her own evil pleasures to slip between the plates of armor on Ironhide's side and caress neutral wires beneath. A monstrous growl vibrated from him in return. Over-energized revellers scattered from their path, seeing the imminent danger there was of getting in their way.

"Where do you want to go, then?"

"_Anywhere." _

By the time they spilled out into the hall, the two warriors had reduced themselves to a tangle of black and blue limbs grappling at each other.

A pounding gallop resounded throughout the halls, unheeded by the arousal-hazed pair. Others glanced up though, catching sight of a mech barrelling around the corner. Under the harsh blare of the lights, his blazingly loud paint blinded optics momentarily. A streak of orange-yellow afterimage burned upon their vision for a few astroseconds after.

"Get out of my way! I have to get to the-!" CRACK! Colliding head first with a wall of solid black armor, Punch rebounded hard, his back hitting the floor so hard his vision faltered. Stunned for a few astroseconds, he never saw the pair of cannons or the energy rifle that was drawn. The moment he did get his senses back though, he was given a nice view down the foreboding black barrel of each other weapons trained on him.

"You better have a damn good reason for interrupting us," the mech rumbled darkly.

A strange hush settled across the congregation of mechs who had gathered to watch. A deactivated drone was shoved into Nebula One's doorway so that party goers within could watch the showdown between the unknown mech and the two riled warriors.

Steeling himself, Punch heaved up into the standing position and glared at the two bots he had apparently collided with. He was in the wrong, he knew it, but there was no time to deal out extended apologies to temperamental gunslingers, especially over-energized ones. A short apology would have to do.

"Look, sorry for hitting you like that, I wasn't watching where I was going, but I have somewhere I really gotta be right now-!" He tried to slip around them.

The wielder of the energy rifle tapped him threateningly on the chassis with her weapon. "Not so fast," she hissed. Even at the distance that Punch stood, he could hear the thrum of her coolant fans working. "What kind of fragging apology was that?"

Punch revved in frustration; whoever these two were, they were NOT making this easy. "One that will have to do for now," he replied sharply. "I don't have time for this, I have things to deliver! After I'm done, if you still want a proper apology, come and find me and I'll be more than happy to grovel at your feet-." Again, he tried to cut passed them.

This time, it was the mech with the cannons that stepped into his path. "You better start showing some respect, mech, or you'll find yourself in pieces in the med bay-."

"What a coincidence, that's exactly where I need to be," Punch hissed sardonically. His sensors scanned the area for a quick way out; no openings and not a single mech within two floors that was sober. Frag, frag, _frag_.

Out of the corner of his optic, he caught sight of the quicksilver form of his commander lingering in a group of Autobots packed together in Nebula One. Punch smothered the hot flame of annoyance that arose in his chest; here he was staring down his own mortality while Jazz flirted it up with some mechs and at a drunken party. It was orns like these that made him wish he stayed with Mirage in Intelligence and Espionage.

Not taking his gaze off of his opponents, the double-agent reached to the secure compartment in his shoulder and withdrew the antiviral chip. "Jazz! Jazz, I know you're there! I have the chip! How do I get these two out of my way?!"

And suddenly, Jazz was at his side, claw-like hands raised in an attempt to ward off the weaponry targeted on his mech. "Ironhide, Chromia, this ain't the time ta be shootin' up anybody!" he said quickly. "This is Punch, he's one o' mine! He's the one with the cure!"

Startled comprehension crossed their faceplates. Chromia's rifle was instantly back in subspace, Ironhide's cannons folded back into his arms. Punch felt a started faintness creep into him as he came to realized that he had been staring down the barrels' of two of the Autobots' most deadly warriors. He was lucky to still be in one piece.

"Why didn't you just say so?" the femme snarled, grabbing the brightly painted mech by the arm. She may have been quite a bit smaller than him, but she was disturbingly strong, nearly yanking the agent's arm out as she set off at a run for the medical wing.

"Hurry up, femme," Ironhide growled as he loped behind the running pair. "You're too damn slow."

Chromia shot a bright, acidic glare over her shoulder to her bonded. "I'm going as fast as I can," she hissed. "I can't help that my legs are shorter than yours!"

Upon hitting the medical wing, they found First Aid already out in the hall waiting for them. Jazz had obviously given the mech a heads-up. His optics searched from Chromia to Ironhide, then landing on Punch. He reached out and grabbed the double-agent, wrenching him out of the femme's grasp.

"I know Ratchet said he wanted to give the chip a full workup, but my guess is he's too far gone to even hold a laser scalpel steady. I don't suppose anyone here is willing to wait until he's sober enough to perform the scans?" the medic asked, also immediately receiving a roaring "NO!" from Chromia and Ironhide. He smiled ruefully in return. "Well then, I'll simply trust that the antivirus really is the antivirus."

"It is," Punch rumbled as he placed the small bit of metal into the medic's hand.

Crystal windows trembled dangerously with the force that the door to the ICU was slide open, First Aid parading in with Ironhide and Chromia hot on his heels. Punch was less quick upon storming the care unit, stepping in warily once he spotted Prime standing near one of the occupied berths. To their credit, Optimus and Elita hardly jumped as the trio of loping bots came careening up the rows. Most notably, neither budged from the side of the offline mech laid out on the berth they stood at, even daring to shield him slightly from the perceived threat coming into the ICU.

An indignant medical drone came racing up the aisle in order to halt the wild stampede that was rampaging throughout its ICU. First Aid didn't even spare the creature a second thought before he connected with its systems and initiated an override that turned the drone docile immediately. It wandered off to its previous duties as the medic and his two companions flew passed Prime and the Femme Commander.

"What is going on here?" Optimus called over the thundering raucous of charging feet.

While Chromia ignored him all together, hitting Arcee's CR chamber at a full out run, Ironhide spared the decency of spinning around and grunting, "Antivirus."

Bumblebee's optics flared to life as if the word 'antivirus' was the command to summon him from the ether of his unconscious haze. His sudden bid for consciousness went unnoticed though as all attention was suddenly diverted to Arcee and the antivirus that was about to be administered.

Elita slid to Chromia's side, arms wrapped tight around her shoulders as the dusky-blue femme clung to the chamber. "_This is it_," she whispered to her commander. _"This is it!"_

As excited as Chromia was for Arcee, Ironhide was tense beyond what his structural supports could withstand. He was practically trembling with the tension that thrummed though his frame as First Aid prepared the uploading sequence that would deliver the antivirus directly into Arcee's infected frame.

Optimus was about to join his sparkmate and friends when a tentative hand tapped his arm. Behind him stood a blindly bright-painted mech, whose serious expression contrasted his blaring paintjob like the sun and moon. Acting on pure intuition, Optimus surmised that the mech must have been the one to obtain the antivirus from the Decepticons.

"Sir, I have some information that I think it very prudent for you to know."

Optimus glanced over his shoulder, barely able to see over First Aid's shoulder that the upload's progress was nearly 50 percent complete. "Can it wait?"

"No, sir. It is crucial that I tell you now."

One more glance; 75 percent complete. Optimus relented. "Alright, report."

Punch steadied himself. "Starscream knows of your plans to go after the Allspark, sir. He's ordered for the launch of one of his own ships to counter the _Ark,_ and has set an attack on Iacon for tomorrow. If we are to have any hope for Cybertron at all, the Ark must be launched now! As well, Iacon must be alerted to the attack as soon as possible. Every Autobot capable of holding a blaster should be ready; what is coming on the horizon is not just a petty raid, the Decepticons mean to destroy this place."

"Are you sure, solider?" Optimus pressed.

"Yes! One hundred percent, sir! We have no time to lose! Iacon must be placed on high alert now!"

"Upload of the antiviral codes complete. Commencing nullification of the viral codes… now."

A brighter light than that of the inconsistent chamber light now spilled through the glass. Ironhide felt the desperate, excited summons of his bonded and came to her side, drawing both her and Elita to him.

Elita reached up and patted him on the arm that now encompassed her. "It's working," she whispered, a bright grin painting her faceplate.

First Aid worked rapidly with the mass of incoming raw data that was being surged into the monitoring consol of the CR chamber. Arcee's stats were going through the roof! Transformation circuitry, cleared! Weaponry access and control, cleared! Subspace access and control, cleared! Interfacing circuitry, cleared! It was an attack force of the likes First Aid had never seen before! Arcee had been infected with a serious Alpha class virus and this antivirus was dealing with it as if it were a common code corruption!

There was a slight lull in the progress. A collective intake of air passed through all the bots present. The battle had begun for Arcee's neutral relays. If her frame's neural network was not cleared entirely of the invading force, then this entire charade had been a lost cause. Tactile perception would be lost. Movement would be lost. Memories stored within files in minor circuit boards would be lost. All replays to her processor would be lost. Arcee would never be able to use her frame again.

"No, no, come on! Come on, work dammit!" Chromia cried, her grip so tight on Ironhide that she was scratching off his paint. "You're going to get through this, Arcee! Fight!"

A pause. Resistance. The virus gained ground, fighting back.

"Please, Dearspark, please hold on!" the writhing femme pleaded. Elita had her arms wrapped tight around her friend, forcing Chromia into her chassis, holding on to her for dear life. Ironhide' grip on the both of them was slowly becoming crushing. Optimus dared a step forward, and then halted as something stirred behind him.

Bumblebee was up, struggling to keep himself up with one weak arm as the other stretched out towards the magenta femme who had risked everything to save his life. His optics were transfixed to her. There was no other being in the universe that he saw.

_Arcee…_

Whether by some divine guiding hand, or by some uncanny coincidence of the universe, the antivirus that was struggling so valiantly so save Arcee was suddenly bolstered by an unseen force, surging forward in a relentless wave.

"Neural relays… cleared! All scans indicate the virus has been purged!" First Aid spun from the screen to face his fellow Autobots. "Arcee's going to be okay!"

And then the base's intercoms crackled to life.

"**Attention Autobots: Incoming Decepticon Attack! I Repeat, Incoming Decepticon Attack! All Autobot Personnel, Report To Your Stations Immediately! This Is Not A Drill; Assume Battle Ready Status And Prepare For A Siege On Iacon!" **


	17. Of Autobots and Decepticons IV

Well, this is the end everybody. The last chapter. The end of _Time_. I hope everyone has enjoyed the ride as much as I have! This is the major action-battle-grand-finale blow-out chapter that end this fic off with a bang! I've worked very, very, very hard for it to come out right and I hope that everyone enjoys it!

_Breakdown's different fonts in speech- _when he speaks like 'blah', those are simply thoughts, but italics like "_blah" _are him transmitting to the Seekers.

_Uller- _It's Hound and Smokescreen's ship. I named it after the Norse god of hunting.

Well, this being the end and all, I would like to send out the biggest, sincerest, most gracious thanks EVER to my dear, wonderful reviewers who have taken the amazing time to read this fic and leave a review! Thank you so much, all of you! Big, Godzilla-sized thanks goes out to **theshadowcat, Violet Light, a.mild.groove, Bluebird Soaring, Dragowolf, Kittona, Bunnylass, Silveriss, I play wid fir3,** and **Litahatchee**!

Big thanks goes out to **Litahatchee**, who has been a wonderful beta and friend throughout the making of this chapter! Not to mention the wonderful and eagle-eyed beta, **Violet Light**, who has been a tremendous help as well. And, who could forget **lady tecuma**, who has been wonderful for advice and help!

And just to let everyone know, this is seriously the chapter to review! There is a sequel in the making, but it will only come to if it's wanted! Let me know in the reviews if you want to see the sequel up! XD

* * *

'Seekers,' Breakdown thought bitterly, 'are the worst kind of 'Cons to deal with.'

He had thought Starscream, in his ever-present vanity, had been bad. Now placed in command of the remaining Seekers, the Stunticon was beginning to realize just how good he had it with Screamer.

Taking a calming drag of air through his vents, he prepared once more for a hopeless verbal battle between himself and the unruly bots flying above him.

"_Quit showing off! Motormaster wants you to stick to formation! We're nearing Iacon!" _

"_Motormaster this! Motormaster that! What is he, your sparkmate?" _

'Oh, how very mature, Thrust…'_"No! He's the commanding officer of this mission and if you don't start flying in the right configuration, he'll rip you a new one!" _

"_Who the pit cares?!" _

'You will, Dirge, when you find out your wings have been ripped off and welded to your aft!' _"I mean it, get back into your flight formation or I'll-!" _

"_You'll what? Snitch on us? Go suck our exhaust!" _

'No thank you, I've seen the affect it's had you, Ramjet.' _"Why you glitching, half-bit fraggers, I'll shoot you down myself-!" _

"_You'll have to catch us first!" _Thrust challenged.

Thrusters burned gouges of hot light against the inky blackness of the sky. Several sleek, darting shapes soared above Breakdown's battalion, darting high, swooping low, searing the heads of mechs with the after-burn of their thrusters and barrel rolling through the ranks in order to slap unlucky ground-bound 'Cons with their wings. They were stirring up more trouble than they were worth. Breakdown could already see the beginnings of yet another in-rank brawl; mechs now unfolding from their alt modes, charging their weapons. It _had_ to be some kind of cruel joke the universe was playing on the unfortunate Stunticon for this to be the one orn he wished Starscream was here to keep his Seekers in line, while the Seeker commander himself was long gone.

Thundercracker glided in close to his remaining trinemate, flying only a breath above Skywarp. _"They're having fun," _he transmitted through a private channel, referring to the whipping, zipping, barrel rolling antics of their fellow Seekers. _"Nothing like a good flight to get you in the mood for a good fight." _

"_Yeah…" _Skywarp sounded too distant, a little absent; not at all himself. He was _thinking_. The two Seekers flew in awkward silence for a few breems as Thundercracker puzzled out what to say next, both of them ignoring Breakdown as he continued to hail them futilely with unheeded demands to fall back into some semblance of order.

Finally, Thundercracker decided to speak, choosing to voice the question that was undoubtedly plaguing the both of them. "_You think Screamer's going to do okay out there?" _

Skywarp dipped a little, sliding out from under the other jet, only to rise again and fly wingtip to wingtip with him. _"Starscream can take care of himself. He's a big mech; he doesn't need us flying under his wings all the time making sure he doesn't fall." _

"_Yeah, it's just odd not having him here. We've always been together. We're brothers, after all." _

The exuberant Dirge, Ramjet, and Thrust whizzed by, roaring with laughter as Breakdown continued to fry his circuits over them. The two trinemates made no move to stop their fellow Seekers' fun. Instead, they dipped out of the way so that the dark sky was uninhibited for the others.

A sigh echoed from Skywarp, and then he performed a small loop to shake off the lethargy that had taken hold of his processor. "_Yeah, and as his brothers, he's entrusted us with the task of making sure no one gets the bright idea to rise up in his absence. Until he returns, that's all we can do. Think we can mange it for him?"_

"_For him? Yeah." _A chuckle drifted through the comm. link from Thundercracker. _"Figures he'd stick us with the boring job." _

"_It _is_ Starscream, after all," _Skywarp reminded, joining in on some light-sparked laughter. "_You know what'll cheer you up, though?" _

"_What?" _

"_Getting to Iacon first." _And with that, the air itself seemed to compress around Skywarp, turning thick and distorted. Instantly, Thundercracker was under the hull of his brother, pressing himself as close as possible to be caught in the other mech's distortion field as space bent. Suddenly, the jets appeared to fold in on themselves, air and matter returning to their normal, undistorted states with a loud _crack _resounding through the air.

They were gone.

In their wake, the remaining Seekers went wild with roars of laughter, circling high above, nose-diving sharply, before utterly forgoing all appearances to be under Breakdown's command and spiriting off into the speckled night sky in the direction of Iacon. Undoubtedly, that's where they would find Thundercracker and Skywarp now.

True to their fellow jets' notions, within the heart of Iacon's airspace, the air suddenly distorted, compressing rapidly, and then expanding outward with a resounding _crack_ that dispelled two dark, ominous jets within the Autobot's midst. Before sensors had time to register their very presence, the pair began their reign of chaos upon the base.

Thundercracker and Skywarp separated, rolling through the air with the wicked feeling of devilish freedom alive in their sparks. They avoided being shot down by the responding sentry posts now targeting them, evading them with ease and unworldly grace. There was something so infectiously empowering about being able to take to the air at will, to be higher than all other beings, to be able to strike another without them being the wiser. Indeed, the two Seekers were able to obliterate Delta-3 without either Dogfight or Goldbug being aware of their own deaths as the sentry post was engulfed in flame.

Cluster bombs, EMP blasts, fire, destruction, screams of confusion, running Autobots, chaos reigning supreme. Even as Iacon gathered a counterattack against the two darting figures blurring their sensor arrays, several more jets were streaking into range, opening fire immediately. And cresting the black horizon beyond was the vast, malignant shadow of Iacon's downfall, malicious and relentless mechs spawned from the Unmaker himself; the Decepticons were closing in.

* * *

The ICU rocked with the force of explosions erupting beyond the walls, shaking berths, rattling drones, toppling unsecured equipment.

"**Security Breach! Seekers within Iacon perimeters! Defences compromised!" **

Punch froze, his spark pulsing with unadulterated waves of fear. His optics wide, beseeching, terrified to stare up at his leader, but nonetheless meeting Optimus's darkened gaze. He was too late; he didn't warn them in time! "S-sir-?!"

"We must get out of here," Optimus said gravely. "The _Ark_ must be launched no matter what."

"Yes sir!"

Chromia threw herself out of Ironhide's hold, latching onto Arcee's chamber desperately. "I'm not leaving her!" she snarled vehemently. "There's no way in the pit I'll leave her to be looked after by some medical drone! I won't do it, Prime! I don't care what you say, she's my sparkling and I won't leave her!"

Elita sighed, looking to her sparkmate with an indecipherable gaze before her optics fell to Bumblebee, who remained propped on a shaking arm, unmoved from his fixation on Arcee. She stared at the little scout for a long moment, watching as he continued to strain for Arcee, and then she seemed to make a decision. "Chromia is right, Optimus. I refuse to leave Arcee and Bumblebee. They are like our-," she paused, gathering strength, "_our sparklings_."

'_Our sparklings.' _Optimus searched Elita's gaze in wonder. There was reassurance being poured in from her. She nodded her head ever so slightly. She had meant '_our sparkling_.' As in Bumblebee. That's all he needed; she accepted him. She accepted Bumblebee, even knowing who and what he was.

"Yes, yes, we can't leave them behind. Bumblebee and Arcee will come with us." With gentle hands, he gathered _his sparkling_ in his arms, Bumblebee's chosen minibot frame so small compared to his own. He turned to leave, but was forced to stop and struggle for a better hold of Bumblebee as the little scout suddenly started to squeal, wriggling to get out of Optimus's arms. His hands were still outstretched to Arcee, as if by some miracle of the universe he could reach her. He didn't want to leave her.

Ironhide was at Optimus's side instantly, trying to calm the young mech in the same fashion he had done when Bumblebee had been a youngling. "Hush, little one, calm down before you hurt yourself," he rumbled deeply. Large hands ran over the delicate plating of the battered frame. "There's a fight going on. You need to calm down and let us get you out of here. _Shhh, calm down_"

Bumblebee only calmed fractionally.

"Gather Arcee," Optimus commanded. "We're wasting time."

"Is she safe to be removed from the CR chamber?" Chromia demanded, optics flashing to First Aid.

"Y-yes. Of course! She- she's stable!" he stuttered. "I'll get her out right now!"

"I'll get her CPU," Elita said, heading for the thrumming box that held Arcee's precious central processor. It was a simple enough to switch the support device from the base's power to its own internal source. She took it from its stand, securing it tightly in her arms.

Punch was at the med bay's doors, listening to the shouts in the halls getting closer. "Hurry up! It sounds like the 'Cons have breeched the walls already! They're in the base!"

And explosion rocked the foundation ferociously.

Chromia groaned impatiently, watching as the glowing fluid that held her dearspark afloat in the chamber drain out too slowly. It was taking too long. The sounds of battle were growing too near. Her pleading optics turned to her sparkmate, looking to him in a way that tore his own spark out; she was scared, begging for him to do something.

"She's not out yet!" she hissed. "They're too close!"

Ironhide rumbled darkly, his cannons arranging on his arms, their piercing whine cutting through the din. "Let them come."

First Aid carefully lifted Arcee's frame from the crystalline case, detaching her from the various sensors that were webbed around her. He kept his optics averted from her empty cranial casing, letting the excess amounts of energon that clung to her run down his frame unabated. Chromia gathered Arcee from the medic's waiting arms, bringing the tiny femme's frame as close to hers as she dared. In their proximity, Chromia felt the weak pulse of Arcee's tired spark flutter against her own.

"_Shhh, dearspark, it's alright. I'll keep you safe, I promise." _

"There's no time to waste, we must leave _now_!" Optimus urged, hefting Bumblebee in his arms more securely. Sensing the imminent departure, the scout's struggles to reach Arcee doubled, his temp plating, gears, and hydraulics cracking under the strain. Keeping his arms locked around the small frame in his arms, Optimus took off for the crystalline door of the ICU, Ironhide hot on his heels, followed closely by Elita sprinting with Arcee's CPU and Chromia matching her step for step with Arcee's frame held tight to her chassis, First Aid bringing up the rear.

"Hurry! Hurry! The hall's clear! Get out of here now!" Punch urged. "Get to the _Ark_, Prime. Move! Move!"

Around them, the walls trembled, shrieked, the ceiling buckling from the extreme pressure of the collapsed floors above.

"_RUN! HURRY! THE CEILING'S COMING DOWN!"_ Punch screamed, watching as the metal bowed, wrenching forth a scream that reverberated throughout the entire floor.

Optimus and Ironhide were out first, longer legs and faster strides able to carry them out ahead of the others. They were only a few steps beyond the med bay, hoping their sparkmates were on their heels, when the med bay's structural supports finally caved. The resulting shockwave threw both Prime and his weapons specialist off their feet.

Ironhide was up first. "Prime?!"

"I'm fine," Optimus grunted, realigning his sensors from the severe shake they just received. He ran a scan on Bumblebee, who'd gone limp. Still functioning, he was merely knocked out from energy expenditure and the shock. A black hand came down and hauled the commander to his feet.

"We've got to keep moving," Ironhide reminded him, doing a quick visual check of Bumblebee as Optimus steadied himself.

"What of Elita and the others? Are they alright?" His optics searched the wreckage of the destroyed hall, seeing nothing but jagged shards of metal and twisted knots of ripped out wires.

Ironhide grunted, patting Bumblebee lightly. "Yeah, I got Chromia on internal comm. They're all fine, just a little scuffed-," he paused, further communicating with his bonded. "They're going to take the long way around- hopefully meet us in the hangar."

"Understood. I'll contact the other crew members for the _Ark_ and tell them to try and get down to the ship."

* * *

"We have to get out of here! We're backed into a corner if we stay in Nebula One!" Prowl shouted over the din of explosions and war cries.

Jazz growled, his shoulder braced against the piled tables that were serving as their cover. "Ah don't know if ya noticed, Prowlie, but we ain't going no where fast! The moment our heads go above the table we get them blown off!"

"Then we will have to devise a plan so as to not get our heads blown off!"

"Yeah? An' are ya comin' up wit' anythin', genius?!"

Prowl's faceplate darkened, glaring at the saboteur with whom he still held a grudge against. "Give me a moment to assess the situation and perhaps I can formulate something," he hissed acidly.

Several concussion blasts hit their table-barricade, forcing them back farther into Nebula One. Jazz picked up a half-drained energon cube that lay near his leg and dared to throw it over the top, sending a few rounds flying after it. The resulting explosion was both loud and satisfying. A short cheer arose from the Autobots; inspired by Jazz's tactic, several more energon cubes were launched into the air and detonated. Daunted by the multiple explosions, the Decepticons retreated a few steps into the hall. Even over-energized, the Autobots could hold their own! Though, sufficed to say, fighting for one's life was enough to sober anyone quickly enough.

There was a high-pitched squeal from beyond Prowl and Jazz's barricade, a light-grey mech flying over the top and skidding to a halt on the other side.

"Bluestreak, report!" Prowl demanded.

"They shot me in the aft, sir!" he shouted back. He turned around to reveal a smoking dent in his armor were a live round grazed him hard, searing off paint and digging a gouge.

"He means status on the enemy, Blue!" Cliffjumper shouted from his position squatted behind another overturned table. He was shooting madly through the melted opening in the tabletop.

"Right! Well, they're everywhere! The sentry posts are gone, and so are all the automatic defences! We're being swarmed from all sides! Iacon is being overrun!" the sniper replied, taking up position next to Prowl and taking aim at the first 'Con he saw crowding Nebula One's door. "Oh- and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are gone!"

"Dead?" Prowl demanded.

"No, just gone. They just ran off into the middle of the nearest fight and disappeared!"

"Figures those slaggers would be off doing whatever the frag they wanted while we're in the middle of a life and death battle!" Brawn cursed.

Someone suddenly shouted to take cover, and then entire wall of Nebula One was blown in, throwing jagged daggers of shrapnel everywhere. A strangled yell came from across the room- one of the Aerialbots got their wing clipped by flying debris.

A roar from the invading Decepticons was all they had as warning before they were swarmed by gunfire and flying fists. Over the din, Ratchet was cursing wildly. A chair was thrown with deadly accuracy, striking an attacking 'Con squarely in the chest and knocking him back. Behind the medic, Wheeljack was working quickly with several blown-apart drones, ripping out their internals and stringing them together.

Something silver came whistling over the engineer's head, smacking into the wall behind him and crumpling to the floor. Suddenly, the little drone untangled itself from its limbs, stood up, and presented Wheeljack with the armful of parts it had been commanded to steal from its fellow drones. Not for the first time, Wheeljack thanked Primus that he had built Tungsten blast-proof. But the battle was getting rough and Tungsten was only the size of a tall microbot; wishing to spare his drone the indignity of getting stepped on, Wheeljack ordered it to transform so he could slip the little thing into a compartment on his back.

Blaster smiled ruefully as he watched Tungsten be tucked safely away. "Got room in there for me?"

"Sorry, Tungsten's gotta special place in my spark- ya wouldn't fit."

Jazz's voice suddenly rang out over the din, relaying the message he just received. "Prime wants the _Ark_ crew in the hangar ASAP!"

"Well good for Prime!" Brawn howled, taking hold of a downed Decepticon and hauling him up, heaving the frame into an encroaching knot of mechs. "But unless some kind of fragging miracle happens within the next couple of astroseconds, we're not going anywhere!"

"I got yer miracle right here!" Wheeljack crowed, standing up and lobbing his creation into the hall. After a moments pause a horrendous roaring explosion expanded into a bright, flaming fireball of fury, swallowing dozens of Decepticons in its boiling, ferocious depths.

"Move! Move! Move! Get to the hangar! Don't stop for anyone!" Prowl ordered.

The small faction of Autobots hit the hall, weapons blazing.

"We have to get out of the base!" Silverbolt ordered to his team. "Our battlefield is the sky; we'll take out the Seekers if we can!"

Powerglide suddenly transformed, his minibot stature making him small enough for his wingspan to fit in the hall. He hovered above the floor. "Moonracer, get on! We can go ahead of Prowl and thin the herd for them!"

Scared, clutching her rifle in shaking arms, Moonracer could only nod wordlessly. Skydive literally had to throw her onto Powerglide's back. Her knee joints locked around his wings tightly.

"Don't worry, 'Racer! I'll fly, you shoot!" They were off zigzagging down the hall before she could protest.

"Whave to stay on their afts!" Ratchet commanded, shoving Bluestreak hard in the back. Uncaring of the Decepticon corpses they were trampling, they rushed through the myriad of destruction and screaming, plasma fire and explosions.

"Don't stop! Keep running! Get to the _Ark_!" Prowl barked, aiming over his shoulder as he ran and releasing a volley of acid pellets on the pursuing mechs who dared chase them. They were downed easily in fits of agonizing pain as the acid worked its way in through their armor.

Skidding into an adjacent corridor, they discovered that the roof had been blasted clean off, leaving the entire section exposed for attack. The sky above them was on fire as the Aerialbots and the Seekers battled it out in an all out flight-fight, spinning, diving, crashing, colliding; they transformed mid-air, grappling viciously, falling, untangling before hitting the ground and shooting back into the sky to begin again. After-burn from thrusters seared the paint off wings, vaporizing sensors, disintegrating antennae; sharpened wing edges were used as mid-flight swords, clashing like lightening in the sky, screaming metal against screaming metal, raining sparks and shrapnel everywhere.

"_GO! We'll cover you!" _Silverbolt transmitted mid-battle with Thundercracker.

And so they ran, leaping over debris, frames, slipping on pools of energon and ducking as Aerialbots and Seekers swooped low over their heads.

The sounds of battle suddenly grew mute, though, as a massive shadow formed out of the darkness. It was towering, it's head scraping the stars, blotting out all poor excuses of light from the pinpricks dotting the velvet black of night. A guttural snarl emanated from the pit-spawned being, a gigantic hand coming down from the heavens to smash into their path.

"It's Menasor!" Bluestreak screamed, scrambling back, firing wildly upon the fearsome mech.

"We've noticed!" Cliffjumper spat back, rolling out the way of a giant foot.

They sprinted for the relative cover of the still-standing part of the corridor beyond. Prowl felt something grab him around his torso, jerking him into the air in a crushing grip. He gave off an involuntary cry of agony.

"Prowl!"

"Keep going, Jazz! Leave me!"

"The pit Ah will!" Ignoring the screams of his fellow Autobots to return, the saboteur darted out into the fray once more. He dodged around Menasor's massive feet, swinging up onto the armor of the monster's leg, then his thigh, onto his pelvis, and then launching himself to the arm that held his lover captive.

"Do you even have a plan to free me?!" Prowl demanded furiously.

"Ah'm wingin' it!" Jazz yelled back, thrusting both his hands into the joint between the gestalt's hand and wrist, activating his most powerful magnetic field. A scream capable of rocking the planet exploded from the behemoth as a pulse traveled through his neural relays, frying them completely. In a shower of hot blue and white sparks, Menasor's hand was forced open, dropping both mechs.

Seeing the escape, Skywarp circled around, turning himself in just the right way to spear both Autobots on the stabilizing spires jutting from his wings. Burning splashes of energon coated his paint. He laughed, freeing himself of the mechs by barrel rolling. He was repaid in kind for the attack as Powerglide and Moonracer suddenly came circling back, Moonracer taking aim and firing straight up the Seeker's thrusters.

Neither mechs being designed for aerial capabilities, both Prowl and Jazz fell through the like a pair of rocks. Thankfully before they became craters on the already pock-marked ground, Silverbolt and Fireflight came swinging by and caught them. They set their passengers down carefully before leaping to the air once more and transforming.

Unsteady for a moment, Jazz stumbled into a ravaged wall. Prowl heaved himself into a standing position, clutching his crushed abdomen. Energon flowed freely over his hands. It took some rerouting, but the tactician eventually cut off all his tactile relays and pressure sensor grid so the pain of his concaved armor wouldn't distract him from battle.

"Dammit, Jazz, you should have left me!" Prowl shouted, forcing himself into a run as Menasor came back for round two.

Jazz matched his pace. "Ta that monster?! That would'a been a death sentence!"

Through darkness and smoke, they caught a fleeting glimpse of Ratchet's yellow armor. They were catching up.

"If it meant giving you a couple more astroseconds to get to the _Ark_, my death would have been worth it-!"

A silver clawed hand shot out, grabbing Prowl's storm-grey armor and throwing him into a collapsed wall. Though Jazz was smaller than Prowl, the strength the saboteur was exhibiting now was twice that of what his size would denote. The fire that blazed in his optics was so hot and encompassing that the tactician couldn't help but stare into their burning depths.

"Don't ya ever say that!" Jazz snarled. "Don't ya ever let me catch ya sayin' somethin' like that again! _Nothin_' would ever be worth losin' ya, Prowl! _Nothin'_!" The tactician might have never understood it, but he was Jazz's rock, the being who kept him from spinning off into space when it felt like the whole world was going out of control. He was cold, hard, and chronically had a blaster stuck up his aft, but he was also the one that kept Jazz's loneliness at bay, the one who reminded him that at the end of the orn, there were still bots who cared about his existence- _nothing_ was worth losing him.

Wanting nothing more to respond to the distraught mech, Prowl found that he had no words to say that seemed adequate enough. An astrosecond passed where Jazz still held his gaze, and then the storm-grey mech reached down, clasping Jazz's faceplate in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. The balm that Prowl offered was all but devoured by the saboteur as he pressed his entire frame into the stormy armor before him.

"Good ta know ya understand."

Still, Prowl tried to find words, but none came. He wanted to say he was sorry for being an aft. Sorry for not congratulating Jazz on being accepted onto the _Ark_. Sorry for all the times he didn't properly appreciate how much the irritating saboteur really meant to him.

"I'm sor-."

"Ah know."

"…I lov-."

"Ah know that too."

Prowl sighed, finally releasing the other mech. They had to keep moving. They fell into step together, a fast gallop over broken ground and frames, shooting each other glances every time the other looked away.

"Thanks for coming back for me."

"Ah had ta. Ah don't kow what Ah would'a done if Ah lost ya."

He knew _exactly_ what the saboteur meant. If he ever lost Jazz, it would mean losing his other half; losing the one he was _meant_ to be with. "…Jazz, when you come back-."

The saboteur laughed, seemingly reading Prowl's mind again. "Yeah, Ah know, Prowl."

"You didn't let me finish."

"Ah don't ta. My spark's been yers fer a _long_ time, but when Ah come back we're makin' it official."

* * *

"Ironhide, Optimus, GET DOWN!"

Hearing the warning, the two mechs dropped the floor. Something whizzed over them, hitting the pack of Terrorcons on their heels. Another explosion rocked the base, bringing down several damaged floors upon the unfortunate 'Cons, though thankfully sparing Ironhide and Optimus with only minor burns to their backs.

"Where do you keep pulling those out of, 'Jack?!" Brawn shouted.

"A very uncomfortable place!" Cliffjumper replied, barking a harsh laugh despite the situation.

Ratchet and Wheeljack were already digging into the debris, sorting through what was wreckage and what was Autobot.

"Optimus, are you alright? I didn't get ya, did I?" Wheeljack asked nervously, helping his leader to his feet.

"No, I'm fine. Just some singed paint, nothing major." He checked over Bumblebee, who still laid out cold in his arms. He was smeared in black soot, but that was the extent of the damage. "Bumblebee is fine, as well."

Wheeljack patted the scout on the shoulder. "Good ta hear."

Ratchet was less than gentle hauling Ironhide up. "Looks like the explosion popped your dent out," he grunted, rapping his fist against the black mech's now un-dented crest.

Ironhide rumbled in return, glancing up sharply over the medic's head to see the sharp nosecone of an oncoming Seeker streaking straight through the hall. Shoving Ratchet aside, he bounded forward, bracing himself for impact, frame tensed, cannons charged. At the last moment, the Seeker seemed to realize that Ironhide wasn't going to budge. He transformed, colliding with the black mech in a thunderous clash of swinging fists.

The weapons specialist may have been shorter than the jet, but he was by no means weaker. Grappling with him viciously, he took hold of Ramjet's right wing and twisted it until it stood perpendicular to the Seeker's back. He utterly ignored his opponent's howl of pain. Ramjet twisted to strike the mech across the faceplate, but his arm was caught in a crushing grip and twisted until it cracked.

"You pit-spawned fragger!" the jet snarled, lashing out with his sharp feet.

"I wouldn't be talking." In a finishing move, he grabbed the jet's other wing and blasted it off before throwing the writhing mech down the hall, away from them.

Wiping energon from his hands, Ironhide glanced to Ratchet. "You over the fight we had yet?"

Ratchet glanced at Ramjet's crumpled form. Had Ironhide not stepped in, he would have been shorn in two by the crash-happy Seeker. "Yeah, we're good."

* * *

"_Come out, come out, where ever you are…"_ Runamuck crooned to the detritus around him. _"I know you're here, my pretty, pretty little femmes."_

Elita pressed herself closer to the wall, one arm securely wrapped around Arcee's CPU, the other around Arcee herself. To her right, First Aid was poised with his concussion blaster should the Decepticon hunting them get too close. Some where out there, Chromia and Punch were laying in wait, preparing to strike down both Runamuck and Runabout.

"Come on, this is ridiculous, nobody's here!" Runabout groused, kicking away a fallen sheet of metal. "Let's get back to the fight!"

Runamuck's white armor was speckled blue with wet energon, catching like strange glittering stars as he straightened. "I know someone's here, though," he replied stubbornly. "I saw her ducking behind something."

"Get your optics checked, Runamuck, because there's no one here." The black-armored mech turned away in annoyance, beginning to wander back towards the cacophony of battle.

First Aid tensed, seeing Runamuck closing in on their position. Elita's hand darted out and held the medic fast, placing her faith in her fellow hidden Autobots to come to the rescue first. There was a gasp of surprise beyond their field of vision, but they could hear Runabout exclaiming something-

"_Counterpunch, what are you doing here? I thought you were stuck on delivery- hey, wait! What are you doing with that blaster-?!" _A weapon discharged, and then a body dropped.

Runamuck jerked up, drawn to the commotion. It was Counterpunch, he was sure of it, but he registered as an Autobot on sensors, and his blaster was out and charged. By the looks of it, he just killed Runabout at point-blank range. "Who the pit do you think you are-?!"

A hard weight hit his back, sharp hands delving around his neck column. Needle-like fingers dug into the slates between armor, wrenching them apart. In the last moments of his life, all the Decepticon saw was the flash of a dusky-blue arm wielding an energon-knife before the blade was driven through his internal wiring, separating his head from his frame in one clean sweep.

Punch disengaged his camouflage subroutines, tucking away his blaster. He regarded Chromia's work with a critical optic. "Very clean," he commented.

The femme snorted, throwing aside the scrap pile that hid her commander and the others. "Your not half bad yourself with that 'Con guise," she replied. "Ever think of reformatting into a femme? We could use someone like you."

Punch laughed as he helped First Aid to his feet. "I'll stick with Special Ops for now."

* * *

Mirage stood poised over the _Ark_'s controls, the ship primed and ready for launch. The view screen before him was alive with the brutal warzone that was unfolding in the hangar- though "hangar" was a rough term to use now that two and half walls had been demolished and the roof had caved.

Tracking his fellow Autobots engaged in battle, Mirage's hand flashed to the communications. _"Hound! Ruckus and Crankcase coming up on your left! Smokescreen, Divebomb's directly above you!"_

With trained grace, the Autobots turned and fired, taking out the oncoming threats with deadly accuracy.

Mirage's optics switched to the two melee warriors who had appeared shortly after the battle had begun.

"_Sideswipe, Skyjack is coming at you from right, and you got Space Chase from behind!" _

The red twin twisted to his right, leaping to the air to catch the Cybertronian jet by the wings and straddle it. A golden blur darted into sight, heading straight for Space Chase, but not bothering to employ Jet Judo as his brother had. No, there was nothing but a hot, burning, murderous need for the fight in Sunstreaker now. Nosecone firmly in his grasp, immaculately polished claws ripped through the armor, sheering it back, and then reaching deep into the mech and pulling out as much circuitry as he could get his hands on. There was a shriek, and then the mech was dead.

Sideswipe came swerving by on Skyjack, only to have his fun ruined as Sunstreaker reached out and caught the underside of the jet.

"You're going to ruin your paint, Sunny!" Sideswipe warned playfully. "This one's mine."

He was ignored. Sunstreaker was in berserker mode; nothing mattered but the battle. Vorns of living as a gladiator in the Kaon's illegal death-match rings had taught him that. He pierced the under-armor with a deft slice of extended claws, sharp like Virus's armor-sheering fangs, reaching in and taking hold of the exposed sparkcase.

"No-! Mercy! I beg y-!"

A single flicker of energy and the spark was extinguished.

The twins dismounted the sparkless jet as it suddenly turned cold, momentum throwing it into a wall.

"_There are two parties of Autobots rapidly approaching, one through main doors and the other through the observational deck! The group on the upper floor has a pack of 'Cons on their afts." _

"_Our hands are tied down here, Mirage! There's nothing we can do to help them!" _Smokescreen transmitted as he fought valiantly against a snarling mech.

Sideswipe was already running for the main doors. _"I'll meet them!" _

The main door was blasted open by plasma cannon fire, a hulking black shape charging into the thick of battle as a myriad of Autobots followed him in with their guns blazing.

The red warrior skidded back so as not to be trampled. _"Never mind- looks like they got it under control!" _

Ironhide set off a volley of plasma bursts, clearing their path. Even by the very sight of the infamous Autobot weapons specialist, many lower-ranked Decepticons melted out of the way.

Sunstreaker snarled, darting through the throng of frames into the open hall where the following Decepticons were crowded. He threw himself into the thick of it, uncaring to those he ripped into, massacring whomever his hands landed on.

From above, the observational deck's door was kicked in, several battered looking Autobots scarping in with Decepticons hot on their afts.

Elita's arm was grabbed, jerking her back into an enormous frame.

"Elita-!" Optimus gasped.

"I got her!" With a single well-placed shot, Bluestreak took the head right off the attacking 'Con. The femme commander nodded her thanks, galloping after her group as they made a beeline for the stairs.

A series of acid pellets flew overhead, causing Autobot and Decepticon alike to seek cover. It the acid's wake, Prowl and Jazz entered the warzone in a flourish.

"Optimus, Ironhide, Ratchet- we all here than?! We boarding the ship?!" Jazz shouted.

Optimus curled his frame tightly over Bumblebee as shrapnel whizzed by. "Yes. Mirage is already onboard awaiting us."

"Sir, what are we to do?" Punch asked as his group approached. "You must launch the _Ark_ as soon as possible, it would be a waste of time to take us on and then have to drop us off some place else."

Hound came running by, chasing after a short quadruped 'Con. "Board the _Uller_, Smokescreen and I will take you out of here!"

"Understood!" Punch replied, turning to herd his group in the direction of the small tracking ship located near the edge of the huge room.

Comms suddenly crackled to life as Mirage shouted out a warning. _"Menasor!"_

Cold, electric thrills of dread shot through them, spurring them into instant action. Jazz, Ironhide, Ratchet, and Optimus sprinted for the awaiting Ark, while Punch, Elita, Chromia, and First Aid made a break for the _Uller _with Hound and Smokescreen hot on their heels. The remaining Autobots scattered into battle, searching for a good vantage point from where to launch their own attacks on the monstrous gestalt that was swallowing the sky above them.

The Ark's hatch swung down just as Jazz hit the hull. Faster than any streak of lightning, they boarded, just as a flash of ice-blue dived off.

"Where the pit do you think you're going?" Ironhide demanded, watching the Master Spy enfold himself into the fray. He needn't ask though, for the moment he turned he could see what the problem was- Elita had been shot and Hound was circling back to help her. Mirage wasn't letting one of his own mechs fall in battle.

Optimus shoved Bumblebee into Jazz's arms, turning to run after his sparkmate, but a pair of dusky yellow arms halted him. "Optimus, no! There's no time for that!" Ratchet said quickly, grabbing his leader and forcing him deeper into the rocking ship. "We have to leave now before Menasor manages to destroy this ship!"

"An' Mirage?" Jazz asked, gathering Bumblebee closer to himself.

"He's made his choice."

And, indeed, he had.

"Mirage, go back! I got her!" Hound shouted, waving his commander away. Elita was small enough to be able to brace with one arm and balance Arcee's CPU in the other.

Mirage kept coming, his optics fixed on the looming monolith that towered above them.

A roar of engines filled the hangar as the _Ark_'s thrusters engaged, as did the _Uller_'s. Both ships groaned, a thrum of energy shaking their heavy outer plating. Weapons were brought online immediately. The _Ark_ began to lift, easing into the air with a great, rocking shudder.

Optics transfixed to the view screen before them, the crew of the _Ark_ were the unwilling witnesses to Menasor's foot as it swung in and connected brutally with the three Autobots struggling to get to the _Uller_. Hound and Mirage went one way while Elita's rose-painted frame went the other.

"_Elita! No!"_ Optimus felt his spark wrench tightly within its casing.

Menasor turned his sights on the lifting _Ark_. Quickly, Jazz pulled the ship up and out, speeding beyond the Decepticon's reach.

Optimus was only able to catch a brief glimpse of rose armor amongst the debris before she was obscured by Sunstreaker and Sideswipe taking on a mech three times their combined size. He could do nothing though, for the Ark was already cresting the vast edge of space beyond their planet.

* * *

_Thrust into the cold clutches of the vast, unending universe, the race for the Allspark had begun. It was the _Ark_ against the _Nemesis_; Autobot against Decepticon; __**good**__ against __**evil**__. Neither side knew how long their search would take or how far they would be drawn from home; least of all did they know their search would take them to a small, organic planet known as Earth. They knew nothing of what they future held for them. _

_But, as the search for the Allspark began, they knew somehow that it would be a long time before they saw home again. Innately, as if their sparks were being whispered to by the breath of Primus himself, they knew that they would have to wait patiently for the orn set in the distant future when they could all come together again. _

* * *


End file.
